The first signs of winter were creeping in when I started writing this blog. I can vividly remember my foggy breath, icy windows and wheezing car engine that provided the background noise for countless sentiments that I’d scribble into my notebook. Cursive loops about lost love, existential dread, grief and a lot of other shit flowed off of cracked hands and a healing heart. I’ve worked through the guilt from feeling okay in light of it all. I’ve opened the windows in the darker corners of my mind and I’ve allowed myself to linger and take a look around. I’ve even invited a few visitors inside with me. I’ve gotten messages from readers who say my writing has reduced them to tears. I still stare at the screen in disbelief, reduced to a loss for words to tell them how they’re changing me.
I still feel alone sometimes despite the “me too’s” that fill my inbox. I still worry that I’m too much of something – heart, darkness, feelings, bad jokes, distasteful sarcasm, etc. – but I feel comfortable. A year ago, I could see five years into the future. I had a boyfriend who loved me enough for the both of us. I had a new career and a new puppy and from the outside looking in, my life was good. Now, I can’t see five months into the future but the world around me is coming back to life. I haven’t written on here in awhile because I’ve felt happy. And finally it’s not because I’m in love or because something good has happened to me; it’s because I just am. I think a lot of bad things have happened and I think I was sad for a long time without acknowledging it. I’ve just had a whole year to myself and I finally love myself enough on my own. I know how to think down deep about all those bad things without relying on somebody else to pull me back out.
I’ve reread everything on my blog and I’ve cringed a lot, but I’m proud of the girl I’ve become in front of you. I’m proud of the pieces of myself that I’ve learned how to share. I dove into myself head first when winter came and I sorted out everything that hurts. It’s almost been a year and the hurt is still there but thanks to the raw conversations with people like you who take the time to read me, relate to me, and pour your shared experiences into me, my thoughtful suffering has felt like it was worth something.