I think back to 2019. When my best friend in the entire world passed away. I go through the emotions of how it felt losing her often. That pain, it still stings the same. I cradle it now. I sit with it and I allow it to sit with me. I ask myself questions like: "What would she say to me if she were here?" "Would she be proud of the person I have become?" I have become the kind of person, in part, that we both needed when we were younger. That maybe we wished we were. I let strength take the reigns, but I also let vulnerability have its moments. Both are equally as important.
Something in me has changed. Maybe it's because of grief, maybe it's because of growing up, maybe it's because it just simply had to. I think back to 14-year old me. I sat in darkness most of the time. I unraveled not so much in fear, but in hate, and in exhaustion. I defend myself from fear because this is so often what naysayers rely on, the idea of fear. People with mental illnesses aren't drowning in fear; I, at least, drowned not in the unknown, but in what I did know: and what I didn't like of what I knew. I grew out of it, yes, I have learned much about life. Maybe, again, it's because of grief, or perhaps even other experiences that have brought me to hold onto the light so much longer than the darkness. Something has changed, indeed. For years, perhaps two decades of my life, I tripped over insecurities, sadness, unrequitedness, hate for myself, and quite honestly: hate for others. I tripped over it, swallowed it whole, and dined on it. I numbed it with blending in with the background, silencing every inch of myself to try and feel what others were seemingly feeling: satisfaction. And then I lost my biggest cheerleader. The one person who fed off of my personality. I think after years of numbing, of self-medicating, and then losing someone so instrumental in my life, and self-medicating all over again, I entered my own renaissance. A renaissance of change, of allowing myself to sit wholly within myself, to feel who I am, to somewhat accept these pieces of me, to somewhat accept that sometimes I'm cracked open and it doesn't feel good, but trusting myself enough to know that it will feel good enough. Something has changed. I sit, I conquer, I move on. Val has been gone for 5 years. That's 5 years of not wanting anyone to replace her. That's five years of jealousy when I see two best friends talking about their love for each other or acting it out. Five years of hearing best friends complain about their best friends. That's 5 years of waking up some days and asking myself if I forgot what her voice sounds like, or the feeling of her ashy yet baby-skin soft cheeks. That's five years of remembering where her birthmark fell on her leg. Five years of missing the girl who told me I was the prettiest girl in the room one drunken night at a club and knowing I'd never hear that kind of crazy compliment again. It's five years of this and that. God, I remember everything. My memory is a fault. Maybe. I miss her so much it sends a shock through my system when I say the word "why" out loud about anything, anything at all. I want to tell the world about her and tell them it's OK: I'm OK, let me talk about her. Let me unravel my thoughts. Let me word vomit all the things the girl too good for this world for was. Let me do it, I will be ok! It's 5 years of now knowing. Now knowing, something has changed. That Val saved my life. She saved me. She pushed me to be exactly who I am today. She saved me from myself. From whoever the darkest moment of my life had formed me into, she changed me. I just wish I could have saved her too. Us, saving each other from ourselves, together. I miss her. Five years have gone by. I haven't forgotten anything. I just forget to say thank you, sometimes. Thank you for not making me sit. But I would still take it all back to sit with you one last time. Something has changed. The brevity of dreams, of cold comfort for change. I rely on that now. And it's ok. I miss you. I'm ok. Thank you.
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AuthorI like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me. © 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.
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