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.
Through the Fog 