Dear August, I'm Still Here

I made it. I'm still alive, still healing, still growing.

July held space for all of that.

It was a month stitched together by memory and movement—family gatherings that grounded me, late-night laughs with friends, and quiet mornings that gave me the chance to check in with myself. Selfies were taken (some silly, some stunning), my skin caught a little too much sun, and my heart felt both full and fragile.

There were days I hated my body and mind. Days I spiraled into old patterns, days I wanted to escape myself. But there were also days I felt proud of this body that moves, of this mind that’s trying its best. I held both truths.

There was a crash-out. A messy, raw argument with Eric that cracked something open—but didn’t break us. In fact, it helped us grow. It led to deeper conversations and new understanding. Healing doesn’t always look soft; sometimes it’s loud, chaotic, and uncomfortable. But we got through it. Together.

Work was work—still draining, still demanding. But I’m still showing up. Still pushing through. Still thriving in my own quiet way.

New friendships sparked this month—unexpected, light, and fun. Old friendships deepened, and I felt myself softening in the presence of people who see me, really see me. I even beat Eric in mini golf (yes, it’s true—and yes, I will keep bragging about it forever).

I ran a 5k. I joined a softball league. I laced up my shoes and said yes to movement, even when my mind said no.

And I started something new—another book. This time, a summer romance. Lighter, sweeter. Something that doesn’t dig quite so deep into my wounds. It’s been nice to write without bleeding.

I made it through another month living with BPD. Thirty-one more days of navigating emotions that feel too big, thoughts that spiral too fast, and a heart that still dares to love despite it all.

So, August—I'm still here. And that’s everything.

Let’s see what you have in store.

—D.