Somewhere After Rock Bottom

I used to think

rock bottom

was a place.

A single moment.

A line in the sand

where everything finally stopped getting worse.

But I was wrong.

Rock bottom moves.

Every time I swore

I couldn’t fall any farther,

life found another floor.

Another lesson.

Another consequence.

Another version of myself

I didn’t recognize.

And the strange thing is—

I survived all of them.

Every bottom

I thought would bury me.

Every night

I thought would be the one

that finally broke me.

Every morning

I didn’t want to face.

I’m still here.

Not unchanged.

Not untouched.

Not stronger

in the inspirational way

people like to talk about.

Just… still here.

A little more scarred.

A little more honest.

A little less convinced

that pain is forever.

Because I’ve learned something

about darkness.

It always feels endless

when you’re standing in it.

It always convinces you

there’s nothing beyond it.

And every single time—

it’s lying.

The sun comes up.

The wound closes.

The thing that felt impossible

becomes a memory.

Not a pleasant one.

But a memory.

So if I’m standing

somewhere after rock bottom now,

I think that’s enough.

I don’t need to know

where the road ends.

I just need to know

I’m no longer falling.

And for today,

that’s a good place to begin.