I found all of my old blog posts earlier today, from my TypePad account. The blogging platform I used before this one, but after Blogger. The one I created in 2009 after my fiance left me and my writing started to take shape. The one I continued through my next big relationship, the aftermath, the person I loved the most in this world, the way that blew up in my face, treatment and the beginnings of California, and the crash back to earth.
I read a few posts, and I felt the need to do something that I did then. This is a postcard to my past self.
You can and will be just as, if not more, unhappy in California as you were in Texas. The love of your life, or the person you honestly thought was going to be, does not speak to you. You're not even Facebook friends. As far as you know, he doesn't care to remember that you exist and you very much deserve that. I'm sorry. Your ex fiance lives here, too, but he doesn't want to see you, and the only times you've spoken to him in years have been on nights that you got drunk and sad. You got drunk and sad a lot after your first round of treatment. Drunk, sad, sorry, drunk, sad, sorry, broke a lot of things, burned a lot of bridges, dropped out of school, ruined your life (that isn't an exaggeration. You royally fucked yourself) and somehow managed to trap someone else into a relationship with you. One you've damaged beyond repair, it would seem, one that you're still trying to fix. You don't drink anymore. You don't have a best friend any more. Oh, that's right... she's gone. She left for the same reason everyone else did. You were a car careening down the highway with a drunk at the wheel, and she couldn't bear to see the crash. You tried to die a bunch of times in odd ways. Lots of nights with too many drinks and somehow you still got home, at the expense of several crappy cars you bought off Craigslist. Your parents trust you again now, but not like before, and they're disappointed. They won't tell you that, but you know it. Your brother kicked you out of his life because you were such a fuck up. You checked back into the hospital twice, and it almost wasn't enough. You didn't graduate from ACU. You didn't get back to Monte Nido. Your exes didn't forgive you. You don't sing onstage anymore. You don't even go to karaoke. You're not in therapy at the moment but you should be.
Despite all that, though, you're going to be alright.
It gets worse, and worse, and so much worse that you want to give up, but you don't.
Right now I am trying to take that brave moment of refusal and turn it into something you can be proud of. I let you down, and I'm so sorry for that.
Please try to remember that there are greater things than what come after this.
It won't always hurt this much.
I don't know if this is the one who stays or even one who'll matter as much as the others did, but I'm going to do my best to find out.
See you soon.