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

Every Time, Choosing Life
Life isnβt a sentence; itβs not a straight line.
Living is complicated, and frankly, itβs messy.
And for some of us, itβs really, really tough sometimes.
The hardest part isnβt what happens around us; itβs 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 couldnβt 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 donβt understand the fight; the resonating question, Why?
For some of us, we have to constantly ask ourselvesβWhy not?
Why should I keep goingβtoday, right now?
Whatβs going to keep me here? I canβt explain why itβs so hard, but living just isnβt 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 Iβm one of those people whoβs had to fight that question and not just once. It wasnβt just when things were bad, now the worst days are when things are good; but Iβm 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 wasnβt 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 aloneβlike no one else had to fight just to keep from breaking. My silent screams began to make themselves seen.
Itβs not a lie. Life is full of pain. Life has plenty of suffering, and itβs really, really hard.
But after so many years of fighting, Iβve learned something:
Iβm 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 didnβt 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.
Iβve got so many semicolons in my cycle, they form a patternβsomething bright.
At first, I thought it looked like a sun. That felt rightβit 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 windmillβsomething that takes heavy energy and turns it into movement and electricity.
Thatβs 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 itβmaybe with a peacock eye, something beautiful made from what I survived.
But it never felt quite right.
Then it hit me:
A semicolon isnβt a trophy.
It doesnβt mean you wonβit means you keep going.
This isnβt something you overcome once and move on from.
Itβs not a rough patch. Itβs wiring. Itβs 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 Iβm okay?
Why keep showing up? Every, single, day
Because sometimes, when the day is heavy, choosing life is the most beautiful thing.
And I doβchoose 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 lifeβevery time.
Poems
Still Choosing Life
It doesnβt happen once.
Itβs not some dramatic turning point
or a single event that tipped the scales.
It comes backβ
the weight,
the question of purpose,
the desire for peace.
Always so tiredβ
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 fightβ
and why must I fight at all?
Some days, the fight looks easy – a clear victory.
Other days,
itβs 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.
Itβs grit: Suiting up and showing up.
Not giving in – every single time the dark wave returns.
People want it to be a one-time thingβ
a semicolon in a story thatβs already written.
But this isnβt grammar, itβs life, and living isnβt always easy.
And still,
I choose life.
Even when it makes no sense.
Even when it hurts.
Even when I donβt want to because itβs easier to give up and give in.
Because somewhere in the quiet,
I know:
Iβm still here. Still messy, and colorful, and sharp, and messed up in just the right way.
Iβm here and the choice is beautiful because it has always been my own.
Survival isnβt something you did.
Itβs something you do.
Again and again.
The cycle keeps turningβ
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 itβs messy.
Even if you donβt know why.
Choosing life doesnβt mean itβs easy.
It means:
Youβre still here.
Still choosing.
Every time.
By Tracy Marrs
June 29, 2025
To accompany βStill Choosing Lifeβ Painting & βEvery Time, Choosing Lifeβ writing.






















