In losing them I lost a part of myself, my childhood officially ended and I was thrust into this newness that I was unfamiliar with and so afraid of. I didn't discover that, though our friendship had died, I was still whole until the latter part of the year. After noticeable weight gain, several depressive episodes, anxiety attacks and suicidal thoughts. To say it was difficult would be an understatement.
I'm better now. Finally able to see some light ahead. Finally pulling my ass out of one of the worst periods of my life. So as I look forward to making plans and seeing those plans through and living my dreams and bringing them to fruition, I finally feel hope.
Hope is such a dangerous emotion. Too much and people become blind and naïve, too little and you're a cynical skeptic. The balance is so difficult. I'm scared shitless about the plans I'm putting in place in the next few months.
Fear grabs hold of me sometimes and makes it difficult to breathe. Through all of that I still have hope. Enough that I'm as equally excited as I am fearful that it will all be ok and I will be ok and just enough to still give me that edge that ensures that I prepare myself for whatever success and failure will surely come my way in the next months.
I'm hopeful and I'm going for it. Fuck that YOLO bullshit, I'm going for it because to not is to have wasted every good grade I've ever received, every minute of my Mother's worry about feeding us, every hour of study I ever did. My Mom's hope for me has always been for me to be happy if I don't go for it I'd disappoint her and myself.
Above all else I'm doing it all for me because this is who I am and what I want and I don't want to waste another second of this amazing life being anyone but me.