Comeback Kid

I have never been one to truly express myself. Well, at least not at this time in my life. It seems that the older I get, the more I start to remember little bits and pieces of my childhood and it's almost refreshing to remember what happiness felt like. I remember living in Hesperia and all the great friends I knew once. My favorite memory was that I was in a book club only it wasn't really a book club, just a group of little weird 8 year olds reading and sharing R.L. Stine books together because we had the highest reading levels in our grade and thought we were the coolest, silly, I know. I used to write short stories, paint and I loved to draw clothes and had dreams of being a designer. I did well in school, but the more I remember I am also reminded of how tough it was on my family because we were constantly moving around the city and every year become harder on my dad due to his injuries at the time.

As years passed, we found ourselves moving to Glendora in a home that belonged to a family member. The first year was tough. I remember not having many friends and I lost interest in a lot of my old hobbies (and seriously haven't gone back to any of them until recently!) I failed all my classes, started to binge eat and I just stopped caring about myself. A little dramatic I know but just let me vent. Eventually though, I made some great friends, people I still talk to and love and they really helped me move on from the loss of my old home and people I had known my whole life.

To be honest, I have a confession to make. I was in a really bad place nine years ago. I don't feel the need to go into detail, at least not yet. That will be for another time. I remember not eating, bruising myself and doing things I would come to regret. I blamed myself for so many things I did and didn't do. I remember writing a suicide note. I remember planning this horrible act, for my 18th birthday. I was in a dark place, and I had distanced myself from my friends and my family by not telling them what was wrong.

I met my boyfriend 6 months before my 18th birthday and he was the first person I ever told my whole story to. He was understanding and he helped me through my whole grieving process. When my 18th birthday came I remember throwing the letter away. I had just met a boy I was so head over heels for that I couldn't leave. Not yet. I decided to extend my deadline to my 21st birthday.

Today is my 23rd birthday.

It's no surprise that life is unbelievably tough. I come from a family living in poverty but my dad has worked so hard to make us appear like we fit in, like we belong. I thank him for me being the hard worker I am because now that I'm older, I know I need to survive. The last 5 years I've been with my boyfriend, I feel like I've truly learned how to become a better person on my own and I'm grateful to have a person constantly supporting me even when I have really emotionally overwhelming days. I've learned to open up more (well, kind of) and tell people what's on my mind. I want to live to make the world a better place and I want to be out of the dark grave that I dug for myself. My friends and their stories have helped me cope and remind me I'm not alone in this scary and confusing world. I am regaining my confidence and regaining my strength even when life is hitting me when I'm already down. The best thing about being 23 is knowing that the person I was when I was 13 doesn't matter anymore, the only thing that matters is becoming the person I want to be. I want to travel, I want to create and I want to come back into my own skin and mind. I want to live.

I love you whoever you are. Talk to your friends, tell them you love them and be kind to yourself. Mental health is a bitch but we need to be stronger and not let it eat us alive.

Thanks for reading. Goodnight.