i will survive, but i will NEVER recover
“I will survive, but l’ll never recover.” might be the relatable and gut wrenching lyrics ever
People love to say that surviving makes you strong, like it’s some kind of badge of honor. “You made it through, you should be proud.” But proud of what? That I endured something I should’ve never had to? That I had to find a way to keep living with the weight of something that should have never happened in the first place? Survival isn’t strength. It’s just proof that the world can break you, and you still have to wake up the next day and pretend you’re okay.
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It started when I was still young. Too young to understand, too young to fight back, too young to even know that the world could be so cruel. And yet, here I am, still carrying it. The years passed, but the weight never left. It settled into me, into my bones, into the way I think and move and exist. People assume that because time keeps moving, so do I. That because I grew up, I must have outgrown the pain. But that’s not how this works. Some things don’t fade. They don’t heal. They just become a part of you.
Surviving is the most evil thing on this planet. It forces you to keep going even when you don’t want to. It demands that you get out of bed, smile, talk, act like a normal person when deep down, you’re still stuck in the moment that broke you. It doesn’t give you a choice. It doesn’t let you stop and rest. It just drags you forward, expecting you to keep up. And the worst part? People think that because you survived, that means you’re fine. That you made it, that it’s over. But it’s never over. Just because I survived doesn’t mean I don’t think about it every day. Survival doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t undo the damage. If anything, it’s a constant reminder of what happened — of what I had to endure just to be standing here today.
I survived, but I should have never had to. That’s the part people don’t understand. They celebrate survival like it’s a victory, like it’s something I should be grateful for. But how can I be grateful for something that never should have happened in the first place? How can I take pride in enduring pain that should have never been mine to carry? Survival isn’t a gift. It’s a consequence. It’s what’s left after the world has already torn you apart.
I was just a kid. And that should have meant something. It should have meant protection, safety, innocence. But it didn’t. It didn’t stop the world from taking something from me that I can never get back. And now, here I am, all grown up, expected to live, to function, to be okay. But I will never be okay. I accept that now. I accept that this is my life, that I will keep moving forward not because I want to, but because I have no other choice. People will look at me and call me strong, but they don’t see the truth.
Surviving didn’t make me strong. It just proved how much I was forced to endure. And I will never celebrate that.
