Breaking up with 2018

Breakup letter to 2018.

     2018, thank you. I truly do thank you, from the deepest darkest bottom corner of my heart.

     You taught me to be selfish. I think even now you’re still attempting to teach me this, even though your time is done and you should relax and let 2019 take over.

     I’m glad you’re done. Your lessons were painful and I wish I would have known just how bad they would be because I might have wanted a different teacher. One with an easier, softer teaching method.

     I had to learn to be selfish because otherwise I would have burnt myself out. I would have used all the energy in me to fight events that were doomed to happen anyway, and I would have done that until it killed me.

     It was during your time, 2018, that I began learning that it is not my duty to save my sister. It is not my duty to save anyone, that I could grasp, but I was not able to let go of the responsibility of it till now. “I wondered why you saved all those girls but you never came back for me.” I heard this line in a movie where two sisters were on opposite moral grounds and the one that had been causing death and destruction was asking the other why she never came to save her from herself. From her life. From her choices. From the environment she chose to stay in. The sheer unhealthiness of this should have clued me in to the fact that I was on the right path, that I wasn’t wrong for doing more, that I had done my best and then some.

     I wanted to think that there was enough work I could do to provide a better life for my sister and in doing so give her so much more than I was given. More of everything, opportunities, kindness, love, safety, comfort. Encouragement. Stability. Discipline. Compassion. I tried my best to give her the most of what I didn’t actually have and I think that’s where you hit me the hardest, 2018. I learned over and over and over again that I cannot give what I don’t have, what I do have isn’t endless, and above all I can’t give any of it to someone who doesn’t want it. Someone who doesn’t believe in it. Someone who prefers learning it all through her own painful lessons and really who am I to try and take that knowledge from her?

     Not all of your lessons were painful, I’ll give you that. This past year I learned and actually took in the concept of falling in love with my art. I took it quite literally, in that when I wrote my “Ballerina” poem- the first poem I memorized and recited with emotions and vulnerability- I was so in love with the words and my own voice that I spent a LOT of time repeating it to myself. I accepted that this is what successful artists do on a daily, they become enchanted with the way they sound and they command themselves on their skills and they spent good quality time with themselves and their art and all this energy for it is fueled by LOVE.

     I honestly learned so much through and your passing. This was the year I made choices based on how *I* feel. I took myself from situations that made me unhappy or uncomfortable, and I pushed myself towards places and people that felt like pure happiness. It sounds easy and practical, like 1+1=2, but it definitely wasn’t. Guilt is a persistent bitch and I hope I leave her in 2018 too. She wears me OUT. But overall things began to be okay and gradually *more* than okay the more I did this, the more I chose me. It certainly helped me become a better artist, a less hesitant and shy, “Is this too much, am I doing too much?” kind of artist. Putting me first also helped me become more worthy of love and help. Putting me first has started me on a strong path towards manifesting my goals and dreams, passions I thought would always reside in my fantasies. Putting me first has allowed me to appreciate people even more. Especially other artists!

     I have learned a lot from the turbulence you put me through, 2018. And yet the whole time I had to have been flying, and for that I thank you again.

*** click on THIS to see me perform "Ballerina"  for the first time. It is my absolute favorite. 


Popular posts from this blog

An open letter from a suicide survivor

TINDER: Virgin Gone Wild

I live