#iamstillhere

mrshayesstyles

I feel so bad for not posting anything recently. I haven’t even shared my experience at Rostelecom Cup 2017 with you! Damn… Is it too late already?

Well I am quite busy with my Japanese classes at university and I have never been more eager to study than for this seminar 😃 I am so proud of myself that I can read hiragana and katakana and that I can utter simple sentences correctly 😊 To all of you wondering if you should attend Japanese classes: Do it! It’s a wonderful language!

Also I have regular checks on this blog and I am flustered that so many new followers are with me now. Thank you! 😊

sometimes i still don’t understand how.

there were moments when i genuinely thought i wouldn’t make it through. moments that hurt so badly that surviving didn’t feel like an achievement—it just felt like something i somehow woke up still doing.

and maybe that’s the strange thing about surviving.

people see you standing, laughing, working, taking care of things, living your life… and they assume you’re okay.

but sometimes i’m not.

sometimes it still hurts.

sometimes something small brings everything back, and suddenly i’m that version of myself again—the one who was scared, exhausted, confused, and just trying to get through another day.

i don’t talk about everything i’ve survived. not because it didn’t matter, but because some things are difficult to put into words. some wounds don’t show on your skin. some memories don’t disappear just because time passed.

i’ve changed since then.

i had to.

i became stronger in places where i never wanted to be strong. i learned how to keep going even when i didn’t have an answer for what came next. i learned that healing isn’t always beautiful. sometimes healing looks like getting out of bed. sometimes it’s laughing again. sometimes it’s admitting that you’re still hurting.

and sometimes, it’s simply saying:

i’m still here.

i might have survived it.

i don’t know exactly how.

but i did.

and even though it still hurts sometimes, i’m trying to believe that surviving wasn’t the end of my story.

Some mornings arrive differently — heavy, familiar, or impossibly quiet. Grief has a way of circling back, reminding me of all that’s been lost and all that somehow still remains. Today was one of those mornings. This morning I woke with a heaviness in my chest and a sad heart. I remembered the last time we danced in the kitchen. It wasn’t that long ago. I can still hear the song, see his eyes…