The List I Wrote to Save Myself

The List I Wrote to Save Myself
Journal Entry – October 19

I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until I found myself staring at the wall for nearly two hours, unmoving, untouched by time. The dishes were still in the sink from three days ago. My emails unread. My phone off. The house was quiet — not peaceful quiet, but the kind of silence that screams in your ears.

I wasn’t living. I was drifting. Slowly, weightlessly, like a leaf with no wind to guide it. No direction. No will.

It was after a particularly brutal night of insomnia — one where I cried without knowing exactly why — that I pulled a crumpled notepad out of my kitchen drawer and wrote, almost without thinking:

Wake up before 10 a.m.

Drink a glass of water.

Open the window.

That was it. Three things. Basic. Barely survival. But they were mine.

October 20

I managed two out of the three. I missed the 10 a.m. mark by forty minutes, but I drank the water and opened the window. The breeze that came in wasn’t particularly poetic. It was cold. Grey. But it was different. And that was something.

I added one more to the list:

Step outside, even if just to the porch.

October 23

I haven’t been consistent, but I keep returning to the list. Like a lighthouse I can swim back to when I’m drowning. I don’t beat myself up when I fail to check everything off. That’s new for me.

Today, I added:

Write one sentence. About anything. Just one.

It’s funny how intimidating a blank page can be. I used to be a writer — or maybe I still am. It’s hard to tell. But I wrote a sentence about my coffee this morning. It was lukewarm and bland. Still, I wrote it.

October 27

I saw a bird today. A ridiculous-looking one with bright blue feathers and a tiny tuft of hair on its head like it just rolled out of bed. I smiled.

I wrote two sentences. Then three. Then a paragraph. It was about the bird, nothing groundbreaking. But it was mine.

The list today:

Wake up before 9:30

Drink water

Open the window

Step outside

Write at least one sentence

Smile at something

I added that last one just to challenge myself. But I did it — genuinely. Not forced. It came out of me without effort, and that shocked me more than the smile itself.

November 1

It’s officially been two weeks since I started the list. I’m not "better" — whatever that means — but I’m moving. That’s what matters.

Some days, I still fail to complete the list. Other days, I do them all and even go beyond. I made a cup of tea yesterday and watched the rain. I didn't do anything else. I didn’t feel guilty.

I added a new goal today:

Text someone. Even just “Hi.”

I chose my sister. She responded with, “Hey stranger 💛” and asked if I was okay. I didn’t lie this time. I said, “Not really. But I’m trying.” And she said, “That’s enough.”

November 7

I’m waking up earlier now. Sometimes even before my alarm. I started a playlist called “Mornings That Might Not Suck,” and it’s surprisingly effective. I still cry, but less. And now, after I cry, I make soup or sweep the floor or rewatch a movie I liked once.

The list evolves with me:

Wake up before 9

Water the plant

Shower

Write a paragraph

Text or call someone

Go for a walk

Eat a real meal

Say one kind thing to yourself

That last one is the hardest. I say things like “You’re still here” or “You’re trying.” It's awkward. But necessary.

November 15

I’m starting to notice colors again. The leaves outside are fire-orange and honey-yellow. I’d forgotten that happened every year. Depression has a way of draining even nature’s most basic miracles.

I found a local poetry reading event. I haven’t decided if I’ll go, but I added this to my list:

Look forward to something.

Just the idea of going made my heart race in a way that wasn’t panic. It was anticipation. The good kind.

November 21

I read somewhere that people don't change overnight — they change in inches. I think I’ve gained a few inches of myself back.

The list isn’t a to-do list anymore. It’s more like a lifeline. A way of telling myself, “You matter.” Every item, no matter how small, is a stitch in the fabric of my healing.

Some people have big turning points — rock bottom moments or grand epiphanies. Mine came from a sticky note with three goals and a tired pen.

It saved me. And I think it’s still saving me.

Closing Note

If you're reading this and you're in the same place I was — lost, tired, numb — start small. Write a list. Don’t worry if it seems too simple or silly. It's not. You don’t climb out of the darkness in leaps.

You climb out with little steps.

One sentence. One sip of water. One breath.

That’s enough for today.