Half a lifetime ago. Just barely starting to scratch the surface of who I would become. Years away from confidence, from trust, from honesty. Still burying things so deeply they only manifested in my dreams. Always pretending to be happy. To be normal. To not need anyone. But not just pretending, desperately trying to convince myself, more than anyone else, that those things were true. I survived on hope. On faith. I believed if I just held out a little longer, life would fall into place. I would have meaning, and value, and worth. All of that suffering will have served a purpose. When I think back on that 19-year old girl, I miss her. And I hate her. I feel sorry for her. And I admire her. She was knocked down relentlessly, but always got back up. She was a fighter. A survivor. She fought for things she could never be sure would come to fruition. She pushed me into existence, so I keep the fight alive. Even if the overarching battle has yet to be won, I am learning to celebrate the smaller victories along the way. They are the character builders, the motivators, the joy in the journey…the gentle reminders to always keep fighting. 🖤
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