The end, of another year.
2018 was a year that a part of me wants to forget and part of me wishes to remember always. I lost the idea of home that I had with the illness and subsequent loss of my mother to dementia and coping with the near death of my father due to an accident and posterior surgeries didn't help either. And to top it all off? Not one, but two moments when I put a knife to my throat and asked my dad's neurosurgeon which vein should I cut in order to bleed to death. He told me anyways.
I chose to not be vocal about these things because what I resent in someone, be it if they know me for years and years or just met me, is pity. I had my fair share of having people feel sorry for me when I was unable to walk for eight months and I swore to myself to never accept pity from anyone, ever. This is and was also one of those times. I don't say this now to ask for attention or anything, but rather to ask for understanding-why I was so quiet, why didn't I want to go out, why did I start drinking again. Now you all know, and you can ask me what you'd like to know-but please, please, don't feel sorry for me. I should be the only one with that right.
And another thing. Thank you. To having lost friends and made new ones. To understanding finally that I should never be someones' second choice in a relationship. To starting to stand up for myself and not tolerate mistreatment again. To so, so many beautiful and bright things the future may hold. I can't wait to share them with you all.
