Okay, so. I said I would write the shit down, and I've only got so long to go before I can't for a while, so here goes.
I'll give you the short version.
I drove across the country to Washington. It was devastatingly beautiful and I cried. I thought a lot. I started processing the past two years of horrible decisions and cruel acts on my part.
Eventually I started to forgive myself. I still hope one day I'll be ready to ask for forgiveness.
I've begun to heal. And it is so much harder than I thought it would be. Because somewhere in me I always knew there was this kind of fucking awesome person waiting to get back on deck and I'm starting to see signs of her return.
But you have to allow yourself to be successful, even when you're not entirely sure you deserve it.
I work hard. Life has paid me back... the universe and karma have done their thing and I've had more than my share of bad luck. But I'm alive, and I'm in America, and I'm not being shot at, so can I REALLY complain over a lost wallet, stolen purse (which was returned), speeding tickets, flat tires, busted windows and stupid accidents?
No.
Because along the way I've also been given the benefit of the doubt by total strangers, met amazing people, gained hella cool friends, learned about culture, had ridiculous concert/music experiences. Oh yeah, and I also have my absolute soulmate of a best friend to thank for this entire experience and believing in me and...
fuck me, I am lucky.
I am so fucking lucky.
Wow.
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