Let's clear the air. Do people think I don’t know that I’m a shit show? That I need help, that I struggle all the time, that I’m awkward and uncomfortable?

Of course I know. Honey, I’m me. The one and only Mariah Tyler fuckin’ Moore. I annoy myself more than I annoy anyone else. I'm the one who lives with the constant, grinding internal monologue that I ruin everything I touch. I see the "oh great, this shit again" look on people's faces before they have a chance to hide it. I know what it’s like to feel like I’m just a bad luck charm, a walking disaster.

I am profoundly aware that my entire life has been one giant strain. That I am in survival mode and grateful just to be upright most days. I know I need help showering because I’m physically disabled. I know I need reminders to take my medication and to eat. I know I need to be talked to gently because I have PTSD. I know I need, and need, and need until even I’m exhausted by the sound of my own plea.

And I’ve internalized the judgment. From therapists, from family, from friends, and strangers online. The message is clear: I am a toxic, narcissistic mess. The literal least I can do is make myself smaller, swallow my feelings, and try to be worth the space I take up.

But here’s the part you might be missing while you’re judging the spectacle. Here’s the single, stubborn fact that keeps me going: I haven't given up on myself.

Yes, I may have let the suicide demons win a few battles, but they didn’t win the war. I’m still here. There’s some small part of me buried deep down that believes I can make this all right somehow, that I can balance the cosmic scales once again.

That’s the "Radical Resilience" I write about. It’s not about being perfect or triumphant. It’s about being in constant panic and fear mode and choosing to wake up anyway. It’s about knowing I’m poison in the well but refusing to let go of the people I love, because that love is the only thing that keeps me in the fight. It’s not a matter of what I deserve. I keep going because I love my daughter and my boyfriend and my best friend and my cats.

So yes, I’m a mess. I’m wounded. But I'm trying to heal. What you see as a shit show, I see as neverending perseverance. While you might only see the disaster, what I see—what I know—is that even if every single person on the planet gives up on me, I will continue to rise.

Just watch me.