all smiles.

Note to self, circa 2020:

This year will be the toughest year of your whole life. All you’ll look forward to is bedtime so the next day can come and so you won’t have to worry about today. There will be nothing but time and you’ll spend it staring at the clock, trying to put words on paper. Writer’s block. The words will come. They’ll just need some nourishment, careful thought and time. Until they blossom into whatever they’re meant to be. There will be no pressure. They’re meant to be imperfect. Just like you. Just like that first tattoo that you’ve been waiting on your whole life: an imperfect flower, that sleeps in its flowerbed and grows in it too. Just like humans do; they grow. They show growth. Even when failure seems to take over, you’ll overcome the feeling. You’ll strive for success but what if you fall into failure? How will you catch yourself from falling into the deep end? There will be no end; only new beginnings. You’ll find failures. Because failures render growth and the opportunity to improve, even when you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.

This year will be the toughest year of your whole life. You’ll wish on every star and every constellation. To forever be in a controlled state of elation. You didn’t sign up to be doctors’ fascination. Yet the diagnosis will be a tough pill to swallow, literally, knowing your reliance on the tiny pill infused with science. You’ll throw pennies into the well wishing to be well; well enough to remember that misfortune is not your fault. You’ll spend a fortune throwing coins into the wishing well. Well, it’ll work. You’ll be fortunate to have your chosen family that recognizes resilience when you don’t even recognize your own reflection in the mirror.

End.

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Note to chosen family, circa 2021:

Best friend, if we were on a plane together and the oxygen masks came down, just know that I’d make sure yours is on first before checking on my own, even though the flight attendant would tell me otherwise. During my worst year, you caught every tear I tried to throw in the trash with your bare hands, when I barely believed in hope. You were literally the light at the end of the tunnel and I had tunnel vision, envisioning everything but the secret to healing from trauma: friends. To be the light in someone else’s time of darkness is friendship at its purest.

Last year was the toughest year of my whole life. One blog post will never be enough to contain my gratitude but it seems like a good place to start. Thanks to you, I healed.

Thank you.