I did the artwork, then the long writing, then the poem, then the shorter poem 🙂

Every Time, Choosing Life 

Life isn’t a sentence; it’s not a straight line.
Living is complicated, and frankly, it’s messy.
And for some of us, it’s really, really tough sometimes.
The hardest part isn’t what happens around us; it’s fighting ourselves just to keep going.

A long-time friend recently ended his fight.
Everyone kept asking, Why?

Want to know a secret that I hate to admit?
I get it.
I understand the struggle, and this is why my first reaction was anger.
Angry that he couldn’t keep fighting for the living, how selfish for him to give up.
Eventually, the anger went away and all that was left was the senseless sadness of it all. And for so many who don’t understand the fight; the resonating question, Why?

For some of us, we have to constantly ask ourselves—Why not?
Why should I keep going—today, right now?
What’s going to keep me here? I can’t explain why it’s so hard, but living just isn’t easy for some of us; maybe we got wired wrong. (There is a joke that says But what the fuck do I know?)

It may surprise some who know me well, but I’m one of those people who’s had to fight that question and not just once. It wasn’t just when things were bad, now the worst days are when things are good; but I’m still wrong. No matter what, I love my life; and I choose it – every time. I have found strength in the cycle; power in my understanding of myself, and empathy for others. 

There were days I wasn’t strong.
For years, I have had to quiet something loud and painful inside me. Keeping that fire inside, learning to use it rather than let it consume you; to create beauty from pain.
The worst days and nights were when I felt completely alone—like no one else had to fight just to keep from breaking. My silent screams began to make themselves seen. 

It’s not a lie. Life is full of pain. Life has plenty of suffering, and it’s really, really hard.
But after so many years of fighting, I’ve learned something:
I’m tougher than the emptiness and life is more than the darkness; there is also color.

If you can ride out the waves that threaten to drown you, you earn wisdom that the waves are temporary and you find out that you didn’t drown, even in the storm.

Life is more than the fury; it is also extremely beautiful.
While life is hard; it is full of joy, connection, love, laughter, and purpose.
What keeps me here now is that I can see the beauty in the cycle.

I’ve got so many semicolons in my cycle, they form a pattern—something bright.
At first, I thought it looked like a sun. That felt right—it shines, it leads, it brings warmth.
Then a friend said it reminded her of a medicine wheel, a symbol of healing and the cycles of life. I liked that too.
And now, it even makes me think of a windmill—something that takes heavy energy and turns it into movement and electricity.
That’s the cool thing about art: it can mean whatever it needs to, to whoever sees it.
Art says as much about the viewer as it does about the artist.

After a period of extreme darkness that led to extreme color, I thought about getting the semicolon tattoo. I thought, showing my survival through such chaos was a badge of honor and a symbol of connection for others struggling.
I imagined it—maybe with a peacock eye, something beautiful made from what I survived.
But it never felt quite right.

Then it hit me:
A semicolon isn’t a trophy.
It doesn’t mean you won—it means you keep going.
This isn’t something you overcome once and move on from.
It’s not a rough patch. It’s wiring. It’s how some of us are built.
And it means that every day, the question comes back: Why not?

Why should I get up? Get dressed? Leave the house? Act like I’m okay?
Why keep showing up? Every, single, day

Because sometimes, when the day is heavy, choosing life is the most beautiful thing.
And I do—choose life.
Not once.
Not only in the worst moments – but over and over.

For those of us wired this way, every day is a choice.
We live with the knowledge that the darkness might not go away.
But we can still have color.
We can still be shiny, and sharp, and just the way we are.

We can still choose life—every time.

Poems

Still Choosing Life

It doesn’t happen once.
It’s not some dramatic turning point
or a single event that tipped the scales.

It comes back—
the weight,
the question of purpose,
the desire for peace.

Always so tired—
exhausted even,
from trying not to break.

And every time,
it has to be a choice.
Do I feed darkness? Do I let myself slip quietly away?
Or do I fight—
and why must I fight at all?

Some days, the fight looks easy – a clear victory.
Other days,
it’s brushing my teeth,
texting back, getting dressed.

There’s no sentimental music and no close-ups.
There are no major insightful breakthroughs and no hugs just for staying alive.

It’s grit: Suiting up and showing up.
Not giving in – every single time the dark wave returns.

People want it to be a one-time thing—
a semicolon in a story that’s already written.

But this isn’t grammar, it’s life, and living isn’t always easy.

And still,
I choose life.
Even when it makes no sense.
Even when it hurts.
Even when I don’t want to because it’s easier to give up and give in.

Because somewhere in the quiet,
I know:
I’m still here. Still messy, and colorful, and sharp, and messed up in just the right way.
I’m here and the choice is beautiful because it has always been my own.

Survival isn’t something you did.
It’s something you do.
Again and again.

The cycle keeps turning—
and every time it does,
you can add another color to the story; find a way to sparkle – even in the darkness.

Even if it hurts.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if you don’t know why.

Choosing life doesn’t mean it’s easy.
It means:
You’re still here.
Still choosing.

Every time.

By Tracy Marrs
June 29, 2025

To accompany “Still Choosing Life” Painting & “Every Time, Choosing Life” writing.