G, It’s one year later, but I survived. I’m still here.
I did it, I got over you. I left you behind. Boy, at times I forgot you even existed.
I moved to Newcastle and I started afresh. I found the kindness you lacked in strangers who became my friends; Real friends who filled with me a love, support and kindness you wouldn’t even recognise, let alone assimilate.
I passed my exams – bitch, I got a motherfucking Merit.
I felt my heart hurt on a train from Liverpool to Newcastle, knowing what I was going home to. I was told I only got ‘friends’, despite being chased. He decided I wasn’t enough, after all. I saw him again months later, and I smiled.
I told you I loved you. With all of my silly, vulnerable, forgiving heart G, I had loved you with everything. I screamed at you, I spat hate. I was honest with you, honest with myself. I forced you to face what you’d done to me, what we’d done and what I’d done to myself.
I cried over a boy who I gave everything too, too soon. I put him first, always. I gave him too many chances and he benefited from my doubt. I swept up his breadcrumbs for them to turn to dust. I tried to be his friend, when I wouldn’t even be my own. I managed brief flashes of strength, belittled by my later weakness.
I studied harder than ever before. I tried my hardest and threw myself into life. I kept my friends from home close, kept my family closer. I made mistakes with my loyalty. I fucked up, again and again. I forgave myself.
I admitted who I was for the very first time. I flew with a girl and we lay in a hotel room, wrapped up in each other. We cooked in the kitchen and cried on the phone. She slept on my chest, she begged me not to leave. She handed my heart back to me, She didn’t want the fucked up mess I’d created anymore. I cried and hurt. I felt the pain in every bone in my body. I worked on myself and felt my pain. I started healing wounds.
I reconnected with old loves, in a way. We spoke about our past and our new futures. We laughed and accepted fault where it lay. I got a real apology from a man who hurt me.
I found myself lay back with an ex, but I didn’t lie down this time – I got up and I left, I walked away. I gave something back to my broken 17-year old self.
I wasted two months with a girl who led me on, and then pulled back. I kept my mouth quiet, for the first time. I decided I deserved better. I changed myself, lessened myself.
I have met my person; I have found home in his eyes and love in his bed. I have laughed and I’ve started fixing my broken brain. I found someone who loves me, for me. I have found my biggest fan.
My point is though, this past year has been one of the toughest so far. It’s caused me pain that I’ve never felt and I’ve almost given up at points. But, I lived.
You’ve sat at home and smoked. You’ve given nor received any love. You’ve come no further.
I may get hurt but at least I felt something.
So despite the tears on the shower floor and the pain in my heart, I’d still rather be me.
The only thing you have to give the world is hate. I feel sorry for you, almost.