A quiet thank‑you for the ones who guided me out of the fire

You know who you are… No names, just mental images of the ones that mattered

My youngest child; The only reason I had to try to function each day. Your survival was my only mission Filled with blind innocence and the sunshine through my fractured sight. I’ll love you always!
My compass: The person who helped me find the version of myself that survived. The light at the end of the tunnel and the first safe place my mind ever recognized. The only one by my side before I ever took my unsupervised detour from reality
My Haven: The man who gave me an escape, if only for short periods of time. The last one I texted before I went on my brief vacation from the real world and the one who reminded me, I was loved and important.
My dear warden: On duty during my vacation behind the padded walls. The one who watched over me and guided me back to calm when I became triggered. She reminded me there was hope out there, I just needed to look harder.
My roomie: Mama Bear who kept my reckless mind out of trouble. The last one I spoke to each night and the first to say good morning. She was the mother I never had.
An old friend who unknowingly became my editor-in-chief. An unbiased mind who knew nothing of the me that self-destructed in my last life.
My oldest child: who in a sense is my “mini me” and let me see myself in the mirror, it wasn’t a good look.
My daughter: the one who carefully revealed the distance I’d fallen and the person I’d become.
The outsider who gave my son what I, at the time, could not
My Mechanic in Shining Armor; Constantly coming to my rescue. 2 car crashes and 7 destroyed tires. My guardian angel who saw the chaos surrounding my life.

And the other forces that shaped what I’ve come to call my WTF year. The lunch lady that always greeted me with a smile and gave me extras. The cab driver that bought me a Pepsi (my first in 2 weeks) and brought me home so I could try to begin again. The ambulance crew that loosened my straps, although they weren’t supposed to, so I was more comfortable. The EMT that said “you’ve got this girl” as he wheeled me into the No‑Shoelaces Zone. The discharge nurse that scolded me for the “contents” in my purse and smiled as I threw the questionable items in the trash.

You all had a role to play in my adventure and have each left a lasting fingerprint in my mind.

Still choosing you, even in the dark,