The past stands. It cannot be changed. All we may ever do is walk bravely forward. Into the unknown.
I did that last summer, too. And eventually found myself alone. Again. But in a beautiful house. Surrounded by beautiful mountains. And lots of sunshine. I started to venture out into it. When I did, I wasn’t alone for long. Yet still missed my twin-soul. Once found, it can never be lost, even if trapped inside a lost person.
My sense of loneliness naturally increased. Except for #Bob. And Twitter. My lovely Twitter. Instagram. Facebook. Oh! And, my fabulous texting-friends—the ones you never see but talk to more than your own brother. The only brother you have. Though he never calls you back. Even when you’re scared. It’s part of why you’re so lonely.
I wouldn’t change a moment of my last year. Or any of the 43 that preceded it. I wouldn’t take away a single second of excruciating pain. Of abuse. Of abandonment. Of cancer. Rape. Violence. Seventeen hours of neurosurgery. While awake. Or, realizing in hour-ten that the left side of my body was no longer connected to my brain. Or, losing the ability to walk. Or, seeing the fear on my 11-year old son’s face at my shaved head and bloated, unmoving body.
It’s mine, you see. That pain. And I own so very little.
Nothing is permanent. But pain. Love fades, changes, evolves, disappears. Like people. Pain stays right with you. Your heart and soul are forged by its fire, made ever-stronger. And as I’m living fire, I do not get burned. I am immortal in every way.
Death is my friend, not my future.
Going forward, I see boundless, limitless love. And, freedom. To write. To publish. To go on tour. To have babies. To expand my heart. And share that great adventure with a person who will never feel, think, or say that being me, or being with me, makes life difficult.
Being me isn’t something I can change. It is who I am. And it is wonderful. I do not need the world to think so to make it true. I know it. That’s enough.
I am still insecure though. Not about my looks. Or personal value. My professional accomplishments. Not about my writing. My creativity. My potential. My sexiness. I’m insecure about money. And my lack thereof, even if temporary.
But that one person who loves me for me, who sees my flaws as beautiful, who accepts my past, present, and future—that person doesn't care about my money, such as it is. Because that person does not need me for it. That person only needs me. Who I am. Every inch of me. And nothing else.
It is a pure kind of love. The best kind. I’ve given it myself. That’s how I know it exists. Because I do. And if I do, so does my equal.
I suppose my happiest ending ends with me. As I am. Beautiful. And beautifully fierce. Loyal. Brave. And full of faith. In myself.
And, in you.