Dear Bestfriend, Dear Past Me, Dear Santa
(i think you missed the part where one was bolded but i guess ill fucking humor you)
I really don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for me. Yes, you put up with me calling you every profanity in the book, you put up with me constantly forgetting to bring you taffy, and we can always fangirl about anything together without being judged. You can sing me my favorite songs (probably because most of them are disney), you make the most delicious food imaginable, and you show me things and have my hopelessly addicted in a week.
But you’re so much more than that.
You’re one of the reasons I’ve decided to go into recovery - because even though not all of your days are perfect, but you always try. You’re always blatantly honest because you know i’ll come back when i’ve calm down - and you don’t treat me like the ticking time bomb that everyone else seems to think I am. You’re my inspiration in a lot of ways - you are so strong, so kind, and so much more than you realize.
I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re my best friend. You’re the shoulder I rely on on my weakest days, the push I need to keep going when I feel like giving up, and the laughs I need so desperately when everything is so difficult for me right now.
I love you to death, and I’ll always be here for you.
I wish I could tell you that getting better is easy. That you can wash away the touch of a boy who abused you or the kiss of a man who tricked you into loving him when he’s the poison in your veins and the thoughts that plague you in your sleep.
I wish I could tell you that we have everything figured out - but we don’t. I wish I could tell you that we never picked up a blade again - but we did. I wish I could tell you we never let another man pressure us into favors and actions when our head is exploding with the sin and the hatred that come from them - but we did.
But I can tell you that we haven’t given up. Not yet. And that’s all that matters.
We know that it’s like to have the feeling of worthlessness be as abundant as the blood in your veins or the ache in your eyes. But we are beautiful. We know how it feels to have your eyes fall into your skull when you’re too tired to go on. But we are beautiful. We know how it feels to empty our stomach and slit our wrists in hope that a boy long gone will come back and fix us. But we are beautiful.
We are beautiful - and for once, I can say that we are worth it.
You were just another lie from the mouths of parents who longed to beat perfection and hope into me.
I don’t know. You aren’t real. This is silly.