I’m sorry for taking everything out on you. Five years ago, and I still remember the day I realized I was killing you. It wasn’t until I started crying that I heard your cries for help. I am truly sorry.
But as sorry as I am, I don’t regret all that I put you through – us through. The scars underneath my skin are no longer open wounds. I sewed myself up. I earned those scars.
When I tell you I hate you, what I mean to say is, I hate me. I hate me for being stubborn. I hate me for being too sensitive. I hate me for the things I’ve lost. I hate me for not paying the bills on time. I hate me for not running that extra mile. I hate me for crying. I hate me for putting my sister through hell. I hate me for having the life my mom never had. I hate me for never calling my dad back. But most of all, I hate me for getting seduced by this disease and being robbed of minutes, days, years wasting away instead of living.
And when I tell you I love you, what I mean to say is, I love me. I love me for my heart. I love me for being able to feel. I love me for my voice. I love me for not being afraid to say truthful things. I love me for my tendency to put others ahead of myself. I love me for my imagination. I love me for all the thoughts that run through my head, even the ones that keep me up at night. I love me for my ability to forgive. I love me for my strength to survive. I love me for my hope.
You carry all that I love, no matter how many times I’ve had to learn how to walk.
And over the years, the days of I love you began to outweigh the days of I hate you, and soon I fell in love with myself, and when you fall in love with someone, you love them for everything they are – good and bad.
It isn’t easy, but it’s gotten easier. Thank you for not giving up on me, even when I begged you to let me go.
Lots of love,
p.s. Thank you for stepping out of your comfort zone and taking a chance doing Rocky Horror. Taking a chance gave me a chance at a new experiences, new friends, and a newfound love for you and myself.