An open letter to no-one, really.

Two years ago today, I started the rest of my life. It was a beautiful day, even I could see that. You can too. I ventured on a journey that day, physically and emotionally, but it was a journey for the better. That’s what I thought then. This time a week ago, I was preparing a celebration of how fair I’ve cone since then. I had a whole essay written about how much better things have got in the last two years. I deleted the entire thing. Instead, my life irrevocably changed again this week. What was supposed to be a celebration is flooded with anger, fear and heartbreak. They always say the ones you let in closest hurt you the most. I guess that’s true. I wanted to spend this evening looking back with pride at the last two years of my life, and hope for the future. Instead, I don’t feel anything. All that’s left to say is a message to the version of myself which existed on September 15th, 2015.

Congratulations. You got yourself out and even though it won’t feel like it, you did the right thing. It’s going to be a struggle. You thought two years would be enough, but apparently it’s not. You’re not the same girl any more. I want you to be able to say you’re proud of who you’ve become, but you’re about to fuck up more than ever. Good luck figuring out where to go from here.
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