I stopped writing for a while. I removed myself from the internet for over a year and a half. I starved myself for five months until I remembered what it was like to look forward to the morning. Because of it, I discovered flavors taste differently depending on your company. I cried myself to sleep and lost count of the times I reached out to family asking if they could tell me something they loved about me. I danced with strangers. I boarded fourteen flights and came back a different version of myself upon every return. I stood before two dear friends and married them. I witnessed miracles in hospital rooms and grieved inside the walls I felt safe. I made a best friend, lost a best friend, and mourned the ones I forgot in the process. I sat on a wooden floor as two women from foreign countries told me I was being led to joy and everything was a blessing in disguise. I cried some more. I made appointments, a lot of them; some to take out loans to buy a van, to start a business, to get therapy, to buy medicine. I spoke in front of crowds. I prayed with a man and my idea of love changed. I lost myself in books and let music touch me from my soul to my toes. I walked across mountains. I shook the ground beneath me. I practiced gratitude. I admitted my faults. I began writing again. I promised myself I would make myself proud.
You never know you can be your own best friend until you look back and realize it was you who you needed all along.













