To believe in better things.

When 12, I hit a point in my life that I wasn’t sure that life was ever gonna get better. I read in one of my journals and it said that I didn’t want to die but I wanted everything that I was to die.  I’d hope, pray, and believe in better things. Believe that there was place were I would stop self-loathing and binge-eating. That one day, I’d have friends and feel worthy of the love that I so badly craved. Everyday was this constant battle of who I was and who I wanted to be. All I ever wanted in  my life was to feel “good enough.”

It’s been five years, five frickin’ tough years. I wanted so bad to have things be better. But for awhile, they weren’t. I put up this facade that if I said I was fine one day, it would be. I worked on it. I found help. And within it, I decided that all I wanted was to be happy. I learned that I get happy by making others happy. So that’s just it, I made other’s happy. I complimented everyone on everything. Shirts, hair, pants, noses, eyes. Some people reacted better than others but for the most part, people smiled.That made me smile. I am better than I was, but I’m still growing and changing.

So here I am, and no life isn’t perfect. But life is good, many times I come home happy. Which, I haven’t been like in years.

I’m proud of me. That sounds really lame, but I am.



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