There came a moment when my body said stop.

Only… I didn’t listen.

I had surgery. Once, twice, three, four, five times.
But I never truly allowed myself to slow down.

I kept going.
Purely on willpower.
Always.

Not wanting to give up.
Not wanting to fail.

As if I could continue carrying everything,
as long as I kept moving.

One month after my final surgery, I left for Mexico.

Alone.

As if creating distance was the same as finding rest.

But it wasn’t.

Despite my specialist advising against it, I had to go.

For myself.

Physically, I kept pushing forward.
Mentally too.
Emotionally, perhaps even more.

I kept moving ahead,
without truly stopping to acknowledge what was happening.

Until my body started sending signals again.

And again.

And again.

But listening wasn’t something I did.

I kept going.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

Until my body forced me
to stop.

But even then, I didn’t.

I started to realise
how far I had actually drifted away from myself.