For those of you that know me, you know that I am not a very open person about the things that affect me personally in day to day life, or things that have affected me in the past, and that it takes a great amount of trust and effort to open up to anyone, and if I do it means that I trust you enough to do so. I share very little about the things going on inside my head, inside my heart, but to the few I do share it with I know that they'll be able to listen impartially, without judgement.
Sharing this openly, however, with all of you out there that read this blog and support me not only as a designer, but as a friend even though many of us have never met, is a big step for me and a little scary as I do not like to show my vulnerability to anyone. I am one of those people who would rather excuse myself to cry then do so in front of someone else, or keep the feelings whelming up inside of me to myself than share it with another so as not to burden them. In my mind, it is completely impolite of me to burden another with my problems, which does not make me strong so much as it makes me reclusive and difficult to understand. Normally, I like to keep things up beat and steer my conversations here away from anything personally but in this case, I need to share it.
This is very long, and very, very, very personal so if you're not interested, just feel free to skip it.
I have someone very dear to me (several of you in fact, which is absolutely unfathomable to me as each of you are beautiful souls and deserve only the best) right now that is going through a lot of heartache and pain. I feel it is important for me to share my experience with you, with them, so you will realize that even when you're at rock bottom, when all seems absolutely hopeless, pointless, and without reason to go on... that you simply must, that you have to climb tooth and nail out of that darkness. And I will be there for you, even if it means simply listening to you cry, to hold you close, and know that you are not alone, not as long as I walk this earth, I will always be there for you.
This last year has been hard for me, for many reasons. I moved back home after graduating, living in a reclusive, very very small town and feeling like as hard as I try I am not going anywhere, that on some days I am simply drowning in stagnation. I was diagnosed with a few illnesses in regards to my female parts, which have made me question if I'll ever be able to have a normal relationship with anyone, and am still struggling with surgeries to remove lumps from my chest area, which have thus far turned out to be benign in nature. I am still rebuilding what is left of the very low self esteem I have always had. I lost the boy that I loved for six years in a fatal accident in the summer after he had just returned from serving overseas, which has forever changed me in ways I still cannot express or share with anyone. All of which was set into motion of August 15, 2012 when a 4 year relationship with a man that I was going to get engaged to, move in with, and had intended on sharing my life with, began and ended with a computer.
It has been almost a year and a half now since the break up, and while I am in a much better state of mental health than I was this time last year, I am still struggling with the after math of being in what I can recognize now as an unhealthy, abusive relationship that if I'm being completely candid with you, nearly destroyed me.
So this is my story. And if you are going through something similar, please know that you are worth so much more than what you're putting yourself through, and you deserve so much better, and no one, not a single person in this world is worth more than you, yourself. Please stop sacrificing your happiness, and take the more difficult path of picking yourself up, moving on, and putting your life back together.
It started with a boy.
We met through mutual friends online, a kind of dating site if you will. His first message was only a few lines, a comment about getting to know someone as beautiful as me, about what I was up to, the lines smooth, polished, charmed. He was older, I was flattered by his charm and interest. Our messages for the next six months were lengthy, conversing about philosophy, literature, music, and personal interests. Even when he was explicitly open about being a philandering hedonist, who was very keen on pursuing me while not being exclusive, it sounded eloquent and inviting. He was talented in that way, of charming the world around him with that desire to blend in, to be wanted, to be a chameleon while at the same time subtly letting you know he believed he was better than the rest of the world.
Our first encounter was at the airport after he had invited to fly me out to meet him, and without hesitation I went. He stepped out of a dark blue Porsche, pushing his hair back with aviator glasses perched on his head, wearing a fitted black tank top and Dior skinny jeans with a smile that
made it feel as if he'd known you forever. I stood stock still after he kissed me, half dazed and surprised. His eyes were a dark almond, almost black, and the way he carried himself, erect, and proud was only set off by his easy laughter, the way he made you feel at ease, as if you had been acquainted all along. He spoke just as he had written, every note flourished, educated, and soft. To say I wasn't flattered with his desire to wine and dine me would be an understatement. He was new, different, enchanting, and I was all too happy to be swept away, to be shown off to his closest friends, a prized possession to be admired.
And for a few months, it seemed like for once in my life something good had happened to me, even if our relationship would primarily be long distance, over the phone, and through nightly dates over video messaging. It did not take me long to fall hard after he was the first to say "I love you" and for 6 months all seemed well, until it wasn't.
It wasn't alright.
I regret to this day not walking away that first phone call of many that followed, where it was 3 am in the morning and he was on the other end, speech slurred, black out drunk, with more unkindness to say than anyone had ever spoken to me in a lifetime. At first, he was convinced that I was cheating on him, that I was going to meet someone new at college, and leave him and he said he would kill himself if I did that, that it was it for him. Later, the calls became more intense where he would criticize my family, how I looked, how I dressed, why I hadn't called, or why I couldn't just give up everything and come be with him. These calls would leave me crying myself to sleep, not understanding what it was that I had done wrong, or could be doing better to reassure him, and so I made an effort to only speak with girls, never boys, and wait by the phone to answer whenever he called. Every time this happened, he didn't remember what he said. Not a single word. And vehemently denied he had said any of it, that he never would, and that I was "insulting" him as I seemed to do throughout our entire relationship whenever I voiced my unhappiness.
During our first Christmas together, I went to stay with him. And that's when it became very clear to me that the phone calls were even worse in person, and exactly how utterly selfish, self centered, and temperamental he really was. Our first fight in person was the scariest thing I had faced. I was ill, sick with a fever of 102 and in bed, and he decided that since I was still not 21 and basically being a burden because I was ill, as if I had done it on purpose, that he was going out drinking with his friends, who were already at the house, waiting. When I got upset, unable to comprehend that he was actually going to just leave me to out to a bar without even asking I saw the true side of him. His face was red, literally screaming, swearing at me that I didn't have a right to tell him what to do, and continued to get angrier still when I asked him to quiet down, when I refused to raise my voice, trying not to cry, and so he left. When they returned, I sat in the stairwell listening to them talk about me, talk about why he didn't just break up with me, and I cried myself to sleep.
And it got worse.
These instances were not abnormal. And the problem was it became normal, it seemed like it was how it was with everyone, with every normal relationship, that every couple did what we did.
It didn't matter if I was visiting him, or he was visiting me, or if we were just over the phone. After every time we fought, he would find a way to blame me, that it was my fault that he was upset but after he had cooled down, he acted like nothing happened, smothering me with sweet talk, charming smiles, physical contact and compliments, and telling me that I needed to talk to him more, be more open when things bothered me, which I learned down the road he didn't really want, and then it only made it hard on me. I became afraid to tell him anything, to say anything about what was bothering me, because I knew his temper was so explosive and whenever we would fight he would just scream, and I would sit there crying, shaking uncontrollably. It got so bad at times, he would slam his fists against the table or whatever object was nearby, and I would run upstairs to hide in the bathroom. He showered me with expensive gifts that Christmas, on a regular basis whenever we would fight, and I didn't understand why until later...
The first clue I got, I didn't actually realize until sometime last year. It dawned on me. It was Valentine's Day weekend, we were at a grocery store to prepare a nice dinner together. While we were shopping, I heard him swear and pushed me into a nearby aisle, and he looked at me and said, "Look can you just wait in the car until I'm done?" I stared at him for what seemed like minutes. "Are you fucking serious? Why?" He was nervous, he kept looking around, then pulled me by the hand, literally dragging me toward the exit. I yanked my hand away, fuming. "Can't you just wait in the car?" he demanded. "Why!?" He proceeded to tell me that his ex was there and he didn't want her to see me with him. I lost it. He couldn't possibly be fucking serious. At the time, I thought he was ashamed to be seen with me. It was only recently that I realized it was a woman who he was sleeping with, and didn't want to be caught by either of us. But I loved him so deeply, and I didn't see it, blinded by all of it.
A year and a half into our relationship, I found out that he had been pursuing a friend of mine on campus every time he would come to visit. As with everything in our relationship, I found out by accident when I saw a photo of her wearing his stupid, designer Dior jacket on Facebook. I later found out, not only did all my friends and roommates know about it, no one told me. When I confronted him, he lied through his teeth, as he always did when I caught him. He told me it wasn't his jacket. Really? The Dior piece that costed thousands of dollars, and only ten of them were made? Really? He told me it wasn't what I thought. That I was "insulting him" by even suggesting he was liar, while he screamed and cursed at me. I broke down sobbing, shaking, on our kitchen floor, with all my roommates watching and we broke up. I later found out he had invited to fly her out to his house that last summer. I still haven't forgiven her, not because I think she wanted to cheat, but simply because she didn't tell me. The next day, he flooded my email box saying how sorry he was, how much he needed me in his life, that he couldn't go on without me, and showed up at my doorstep after taking a flight out. I knew better. I took him back, and I told him, "If you do this again, we are done. I can't go through it again." And he promised, and there was the first expensive gift. And it took me three years to feel like I could trust him again. What a stupid mistake that was.
What made it worst, is I believed him. That he said it became easier and easier to lie to me, and they had been seeing each other/keeping in contact for over a year. And he knew it was selfish but he didn't care that it would hurt me, because as long as I didn't know, it was okay.
But I always wondered, even when I told myself it was me that was being paranoid. That I look back on it now and wonder, why was their a blonde hair in his bedroom? Why was there a pink razor under the sink that wasn't mine? Why did he have empty gift bags of lingerie? Why did he suddenly have to get off the phone, and didn't have time to talk?
Whenever we had problems, it would always be this way. He would scream, yell, curse, and eventually apologize though that would take weeks. He was never able to genuinely apologize or feel remorse about anything. And he would beg me to stay, that he wanted to spend his life with me. And it was impossible to walk away once I saw him in person, because when he wanted to be, he was charming, caring, and supportive. And so I stayed.
Throughout our whole relationship, he never failed to remind me that I owed him. That because he gave me money, gave me gifts, and helped me through school that I didn't have a right to complain, because he did all those other things. Whenever I received a gift, I was literally sick to my stomach
wondering who it was he was screwing around with, or what he had done.
When he publicly shames you in public, and is ashamed of you.
It took me nearly two years to meet his parents. He was an admitted coward, his words, not mine. I was neither Korean or wealthy, and his parents did not approve. He had never introduced a girl to his parents. In the four years we were together, I met them twice. They said less than a few sentences to me, except to ask me what my parents did for a living, as if that would somehow make me slightly less unacceptable. I had to beg, yell, and scream for him to even let me meet them as he didn't want to be bothered by having to listen to how much they didn't like me, or approve of me, that it was too much of a hassle to grow some balls at any point and tell them he loved me.
With his friends, it was a different story. I believe he enjoyed showing me off this way, that I was simply the younger girl he was sleeping with, to prove to his friends that he could. He would often let me know that he had been talking to women at bars, at clubs, trying to pick them up for his friends just to let me know that he could do so.
I cannot count the endless amount of times he humiliated me in public, in front of strangers, friends, anyone who was listening. We would disagree over the smallest things, something that was bothering me and he would immediately raise his voice. I cannot tell you how many forks and plates I stared at in restaurants, begging him to quiet down, to not make a scene. He would leave me in the middle of the street or on sidewalk, storming off as complete strangers stared at us as he yelled, knowing I had no idea where I was or where I was going. It was worse when he had been drinking, and all I could do was clench my fists and pray because it made me unbelievably scared. I once watched him kiss another girl at a club, let his "friend" sexually harass me in the back of a cab, leave and not come back till the next morning, and feel completely justified for his actions because he couldn't remember what he'd done or said the next day. And it was always my fault. That I deserved it, or how I would justify his actions to myself in my head.
There were a few times he made me feel uncomfortable in public by blatantly feeling me up in front of his friends, and I would just laugh it off like it was okay but it wasn't. It upset me, but I knew what would happen if I said something so I didn't. Sometimes during our relationship, he would actually yell at me because I was too tired to have sex, or I would be really angry at him and he thought it was okay to go ahead and do it anyway, or a couple times that he really hurt me during, even though he knew I had problems with sexual abuse as a child. I only told one person about this and he quickly paid the bill, and escorted me out of the restaurant, and was one of many guys that asked, "Why the hell are you with this person?" and I could really only answer because I loved him.
There was one time he stopped during the middle, and told me he simply couldn't have sex with me because my short hair cut made him feel like was sleeping with a boy. I returned in kind by cutting it shorter, because it was my body and I would do whatever the fuck I wanted with it. After I had a couple surgeries on my breast to remove lumps, I had (have) terrible scars on my chest and I felt less desirable, that I didn't look like I used to, and he would make me change into a different bra because the one I had on just wasn't sexy enough to keep him interested in the act. Near the end, he really made me feel like I wasn't good enough, that I wasn't attractive enough, when he wasn't interested, or unable to have sex, always telling me he was really distracted by this, that, and the other but I know now it's because he was cheating.
When you start to believe there's something wrong with you.
Nearing the middle and end of our relationship, I really started to believe that there was something wrong with me. He would scream at me, "Why was I doing this to him" whenever I tried to voice my unhappiness, and why did I do this, or do that, and why couldn't I just trust him, or why did I have to say anything etc etc. And so I would actually sit some days after these explosive arguments and wonder what was wrong with me, what could I possibly be doing so wrong that I couldn't make this work, and was it really my fault we were so miserable. And in return, I would shower my boyfriend with affection: hand written love notes, cute cards for special occasions, nice home cooked meals, small handmade presents, and I would just try so hard to please him, to keep my mouth shut and not say anything when I was unhappy. I really thought our problems were my fault, so I figured if I tried harder it would change.
And he promised me he would change. Every time, that he would change. And I waited, stupidly waiting, for all those years and knowing in my heart he couldn't. He just couldn't and wouldn't. At some point in our lives, we are incapable of change and accept who we are, and refuse to move forward, even if it means losing someone. Stop fooling yourself, stop tricking your heart into believing a lie because it's easier to stay with someone than it is to move on and start over, and be alone.
When he simply doesn't appreciate you/when the things he does make you uncomfortable.
It was like clock work. Every Christmas, every Valentine's Day, every birthday, and worst of all our anniversaries. He never remembered. Only once, or twice did he even try in the beginning. Even when I reminded him, he would forget. He never planned anything special, and the day would come and he didn't understand why I would be so upset, why my feelings were so hurt when I had painstakingly planned something so special for him. He told me repeatedly that it didn't matter, that he didn't care about things like anniversaries, and it wasn't "a big fucking deal" so why should he bother. The harder I tried, the less he cared, and every time he would always promise to do better, to remember next year, that he would make it up to me. It made me feel like I didn't matter, that I wasn't good enough for him to take the time to even write me a simple card to show he cared. In the end, he didn't. I know that now. He is a self centered, ego maniac who only cares about the closet lined wall to wall with expensive clothing, what kind of car he drives, and how much money he makes, and whether or not he could be skinny enough to reach his cross country weight in high school and did he look fat to me, or did he look good, which he felt compelled to comment on after every meal and shower.
I won't even get into the many uncomfortable conversations or situations we ended up in because he decided to quit drinking, and switch back to soft drugs, which seemed justifiable enough to lie to me about regardless of how many times I caught him. But I stuck with it, because he would change, or he would stop. He didn't stop, he just got better about not getting caught.
You're doing it to yourself.
When you find yourself huddled in the corner of a dark bathroom, with the door locked and closed for the millionth time, and you're sobbing, shaking uncontrollably, and thinking to yourself, "Why is this still happening? Why am I still with this person?" it's time to look at the truth. You are doing it yourself. I was. I know I was. And I know several people tried so hard to show me that. But until I was ready to accept it, to say, "fuck this shit, I deserve better" and actually commit to it, I kept at it, because apparently I am a glutton for misery and think so god damn little of myself, that I felt like that is all I deserved.
I knew what I had to do and I never did it. Not till last year.
The breaking point: when you simply can't take anymore.
We broke up several times in the course of our relationship. And every time he would win me back. And I would give in. He would shower me with affection, sweetness, and be overly complimentary and kind, at least for a little while. We would never talk about our problems. His solution was moving on, and never speaking about them openly. I don't believe he'll ever be able to share his feelings with anyone, he simply is incapable. Yet somehow we kept going, talking about marriage, having kids, moving in together, and what our future might be like.
This is not to say I didn't love him. I loved him more than I ever thought possible. I would have and did whatever was in my power to make him happy, even sacrificing my own happiness to be with him. I loved him so much that I really could not see my life without him in it, and every time we fought, and I wanted to end it, I went back because I wanted it to be true, I wanted to believe we could be so much more.
August 15, 2012. We were on a video chat date. We were typing. He said he was sick, that he didn't want to talk. He was being so affectionate, so playful, and kind. All summer he had had less and less time for me, always traveling, always working, only a 5 minute conversation here and there where he would abruptly have to go. I knew something was wrong, I could feel it in my chest. He looked happy, so happy, and so sweet and kind. I was his "little bear" and he was so excited for me to move in with him, so we could be together and I really felt like this was it, that I finally got to be with him after so many years of long distance.
And then she walked in. A woman with long blonde hair, skinny, tall, model like. He slammed the computer lid shut. He thought I didn't see. My heart started slamming in my chest, I couldn't breathe, I felt like I was gasping for air as a sudden panic attack started whelming up, and the shaking set in. I kept calling, no answer. I kept texting, no answer. I began to cry, I felt like I was being torn from limb to limb in a thousand pieces. Soon I was hyperventilating, and the phone buzzed with a text. "Sorry, the internet died. Trying to fix it." I switched between texting and calling. "Who the fuck is that? Who the fuck is she," I replied. I left a message something to the effect of (but probably with a lot more swearing), he had better have a really good god damned explanation for this and he had better pick up the phone.
He called. Lying, blatantly lying, without shame. He thought I hadn't seen her. "What are you talking about? There's no one here. The internet is down and I'm trying to fix it." I swore to god that if he didn't stop lying to me right then that was it, because even in that moment I didn't want to believe it. He told me I was seeing things. No one was there. And finally I screamed, "I fucking saw her! Who is the blonde bitch in your apartment?" Silence. Absolute silence. It lasted for what seemed a life time. And finally, quietly, on the other end, "It's not what you think." I sunk to the floor, wailing like a wounded animal; my heart felt like it was pounding in my ears, that I couldn't get enough air, and I just screamed, wailed, cried, how could he do this to me again and that I hated him, over and over and over.
He tried to tell me she was just a friend, a dealer actually. And that yet again, he just didn't want to tell me. He felt like as long as I didn't know it was okay. I could not listen to another fucking lie. In that moment, I was filled with so much anger and pain that if I had to listen to one more thing, I would lose it. I screamed at him that I couldn't believe he was cheating on me again, and that it was fucking over and I never wanted to speak to him again.
And so it began.
When the darkness started spreading.
This is very painful for me to be sharing, so please bear with me.
To say that I took the break up hard would be a vast understatement. I don't think anyone at the time, not even my family knew how bad off I was, since I was living by myself, isolated, and alone. I actually am thankful for this, that they didn't see me, because for a long time I felt like I was literally losing my mind.
As soon as we broke up, I could not stop crying. I mean, just when you think that you can't possibly cry anymore, when your head is pounding against your temples, and your eyes literally ache from the tears, you start again. It was not minutes after I hung up the phone and I stumbled down stairs to find a box, and immediately threw everything of his, everything he had give me in boxes. I was so upset I was sick to my stomach, yelling at myself out loud about how stupid I was, that I was so stupid, and yet I kept reading his texts, kept reading his emails, and even picking up the phone.
When you're with someone for that long, it's not just about the break up. Once you've spoken to someone every single day for fours years, relying on them for emotional support, sharing your highest moments and your lowest lows, you crave that contact in a way I simply can't explain. You aren't just losing a lover, you have lost your best friend. The hours are the worst, they simply tick by one by one, slower and slower, and for me I couldn't handle it, and didn't handle it.
The worst part was the uncontrollable sobbing. For weeks, I would cry myself to sleep, wake up crying, and as soon as it stopped I would begin again. I literally could not stop. I would be sobbing over a bowl of cereal, or crumpled down in the middle of taking a shower and just wailing. I could be completely, desperately focused on something else and absolutely nothing would trigger these sobbing spells, and it would last for hours, literally hours. Just over and over and over again. I would have whole conversations with myself about what a complete idiot I was, and that I deserved it, that I deserved to be in this much pain. I felt so absolutely alone, worthless, and unworthy of another person.
I let the isolation take me over. I had never felt more alone in my life as I did right then. There were days that I would literally not get out of bed, I would just lie there, not because I could sleep but because I was so exhausted it hurt to move. At some point, I stopped eating. Not because I wasn't hungry, but because even the idea of eating made me feel ill and when I tried I would be sick. I forced myself to eat, which made me feel disgusting as I would have to hold back gagging just to make sure I had eaten something, anything. It had been nearly three months and I still couldn't control the crying. At the time, I had no job so I had literally nothing to do but face the endless hours alone, by myself, just thinking.
And then I went to the female doctor for a yearly check up, and my life plummeted to its absolutely lowest point. Not only did she find that my cervix was torn (from sometime that summer when I had visited my then boyfriend, and he had been rough, and after that sex was incredibly painful for months) but had been bleeding profusely internally which caused a very serious infection, which actually explained a lot. She started me on a bunch of medication to clear it up. (This next part I am still ashamed to admit, so please realize this is very, very hard for me to say.) I get a call a couple of days later to find out, oh hey, you have a completely treatable STD from your "partners," with the implication that I had multiples, thank you nurse for completely making me feel worse in that moment. Not only that, but I needed to "inform them" of this so they could get treatment, and oh I needed to come in for a bunch more tests.
I should probably have mentioned at some point that he was my first, and only guy I have ever had sex with. So what happened next was worse. I was furious. I called him, told him, and he had the stones to proceed to scream at me that I, yes me, had been cheating on him and I got it from another guy. That was it for me, rock bottom, what was left of my low self esteem was gone.
I took three showers that day, and the crying started up again. I have never felt so absolutely violated, dirty, and used. I felt less than human, like a rug that people continually wiped their boots on, and that I deserved it. That I was so worthless, so undesirable, and useless that it didn't matter what happened to me. And for the next week, all I could think about is why I hadn't killed myself yet. Why I even bothered, what was the point. And that I was going to do it. It wasn't that I wanted to kill myself, it was that I literally did not want to be alive, that I wanted to be dead somehow, and that it would be a relief. That it hurt that much, that it seemed completely rational. That it would make it better. I didn't want to think about the aftermath. I didn't want to think about how my friends, or family would react, but that I just no longer wanted to exist, that I was unworthy of living.
And so during one of my 4 hour sobbing fits, I sat down next to my bed with a bottle of pills clenched in my hand the entire time, telling myself it was the right thing to do. And then I opened them, and I looked at my phone and I called my best friend, and I told her what happened, and that I couldn't go on, that I couldn't do it anymore, that I felt like such trash and I just couldn't. And she told me she was on her way. She got in her car and she drove out that night. And I don't think I ever told her, not out loud, but she literally saved my life because for the first time in months since the break up, sitting beside her quietly by the lake while she sat with me, I felt at peace.
She went with me to my next series of doctor appointments, held my hand, and simply listened to me cry a lot, but most importantly she showed me that I wasn't alone and in my darkest moment, I needed to hear it.
Sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger, the person that you take a bullet for is behind the trigger.
So when I tell you, that I understand what it is you're going through, how you feel like you can't go on and you think that there is no hope left and this is it for you... I really understand. It's not some platitude of comfort, you are not a burden to shy away from me. I am there for you. I will listen. And when you reach those dark places, please reach out to someone. Even if I don't know you, I will listen.
You made the choice to stay with someone that treated you like shit, that continues to treat you like shit, and even if you can't admit it to yourself, I will scream to the world that you don't deserve it. That you are so much better than him. I'm not quite there yet, I will admit, but I am in such a better place than I was because I realize, even for all the good things he may do for you... you don't deserve the rest, you do NOT have to put up with it, you do not deserve it, and most importantly... you do not need him. Having another guy or girl in your life is great, sometimes, unless they treat you poorly and then it's a fucking nightmare, and you choose your own happiness or misery. Only you can choose to live better, to be better, to pick up those shattered pieces and start painstakingly putting yourself back together, putting your life on track, and taking a really good hard, painful look at who you are and what it is you really deserve. Not a single person is responsible for your happiness, success, misery, or failure except you.
I know it's hard, but slowly, as scared as you might be about being alone, about having to face yourself and answer for your own inaction... you need to do it, and decide what it is you want. You don't need him, or her. There is nothing more scary than staring yourself down in the mirror, and wondering what the fuck it is you're doing with your life, but one you do, even if it seems like you're going no where, just keep moving.
Don't make my mistake, don't try to keep in contact with your ex. It's not good for you, and once it's done, it's done. Do the hard thing, change your number, your email, whatever you have to do, because it is so easy to open that email or pick up that phone and wonder why you're still doing it.
I still have days where it really, really, really hurts, and I am still working on making myself better, mentally, emotionally, and physically. But if you don't keep moving, you'll drown. And I still wonder on a fairly regular basis about what it is I'm doing with my life, and I still have to force myself not to say aloud or in my head that I am stupid, because it's really self defeating and it's really not your fault, to some extent yes, but you didn't do anything to deserve it. I'm not strong, not really, I am pretty weak in most cases but I know with a certainty, that if I don't put myself back together, I will fall apart and so I just keep going, no matter how dark it is.
You know who you are, and I love you. You are beautiful, you are smart, intelligent, and one of the most heartfelt, genuine people I know, and you can do this. I will help you do it, and you won't have to wonder if you're alone, because I will be there. No one is worth losing yourself, not a single human being, but only you can make that choice.
I love you, and that's all you need to know.
xoxo
Annika
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