Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Before you even read this, just know I'm already judging myself for over sharing and posting something so seeping with juvenile sentimentality and emotional manipulation. But that said, this part of September always knocks me flat on my ass, and when I try to stand up and look around again, I see so much of that younger me trying desperately to wade through this shit. So maybe some adolescent sadness and angst is appropriate right now?

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When I was a kid, I used to visit my grandpa in New York City.
When I was 8, I decided my dream was to live in New York City, just like my grandpa.
When I was 13, my grandpa was the first close loss I'd ever suffered [9.22.01], only 10 days after he watched the Twin Towers fall [9.11.01].
When I was 14 and dreaming of NYC, I was at Littleton HS and had finally made my first friends ever.
When I was 17 and accepted to a school in NYC, I had to tell my first ever boyfriend I was leaving.
When I got to NYC, I hated it. It broke me.
When I got to NYC, my first ever boyfriend, whom I loved so much, broke my heart [9.22.06].
When I was 22 and had overcome those losses, one of my friends in the group of my first friends ever took his life [9.17.10].
All of those things happened within the less-than-two-weeks between the 11th through the 22nd of September, over the span of 10 years.

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And yes, I've lost a lot of other people outside of this stupid beginning of the fall season. And I've come so far from where I was on that last date of loss. Farther than I thought would ever be possible for someone as angry and depressed and pessimistic as I used to be. And even though I used to repeat this narrative to myself over and over as some sort of justification for my bullshit, I now repeat it only as a reminder for my brain what my body is remembering, out of respect for those things and people I lost, and out of respect for the part of myself that grew through it and came out on the other side.

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