It’s dark and trying and feels like the end; going on seems pointless. Every ragged breath you take burns and catches, turning living into a chore. It will never be any different, never any better than it is now, like some thunderous cloud is hovering above your head waiting to let loose. You start to accept the fact that you will always have this ever-present sense of dread and sorrow and then it happens. It gets better. No specific reason, no big showdown, life just improves and you’re stuck wondering how you let something so small dictate so much of your life. You smile and it feels so easy, natural. When you’re in the pits of belittling self-worth life turns into something you have to endure but it gets better, it always gets better, you just have to hold on long enough to realize that.