Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
Learning to love yourself is something you will do over and over again through every phase of your life. It’s a lifelong promise. You have to forgive every mistake, accept every flaw. Love yourself through rejection and failure and scary nights alone and bad news and bad people. You have to push yourself to and past your limits. Be brave and be exhausted. You will face every struggle with you and yourself only. You will only ever walk in your own shoes, on your own path. Some days you won’t have love for yourself. Some days you will look at the poster on your wall of that singer you adore, and look down at yourself and wonder why your waist isn’t as skinny and why your hair isn’t as soft. Some days you’ll see other people be successful and wonder why you aren’t there. And why, at just twenty-one, you haven’t done everything with your life yet. Some days, you will fight with the guilt of being lazy, or the awkwardness of that interaction with your friend. You will stare at a photo of yo...