This time, last year, you’d planned to kill yourself. You spent weeks thinking about it, crafting a way to die that was both tragic and pathetic. You retreated inward, had pain in your gut and your heart and your head, and you stopped nourishing yourself in all of the ways that you require it. You cried until it felt like squeezing water from stones in your ribcage, then cried more.
I remember you then: tired of surviving and tiptoeing around your dreams, crushed and strewn on the floor like broken glass. You’d lost yourself, so many years before that, and kept wandering further and further from the truth of who you are. “I can save myself,” you thought. “I can change my life.”
And it’s the hardest endeavor you’ve ever taken on, but you’re already more aligned with who we are.
The path you’ve walked is lined with fire, and I am so incredibly grateful you’ve kept looking ahead. You’ve worked so hard to get me here. Depression, anxiety and PTSD make life so difficult, but you started the journey that I may find a way.
I wish I could give you the moon and the sun, but all I can do right now is tell you I’m happy. From our toes to our head I feel it, each day. And though it’s some days fleeting, it’s still there: those warm smiles, those bubbly laughs, those bright eyes full of happy tears. I don’t regret or resent any of the choices you made.
I’ll carry this year with me for the rest of my life. It’s truly been a gift. I’ll remember the heartbreak, the pain, the darkness, the numb emptiness and the violence. But I’ll also remember the random acts of kindness, the warmth, the comfort, the magic, the support and the unyielding friendship. Our support system is incredible and our medical team is unwavering. I will remember what you went through, how hard you worked to save your life, and how you grew as a spiritual being. You are a beautiful soul.
Most of all I’ll hold onto the overwhelming love we received as best as I can. Not external, but internal From you. From us.
All of my love.