I used to be so afraid of losing myself. At a time when everybody was struggling to find who they were, I was trying to cling on to the identity I thought I wanted. I tried to make sense of all these feelings, simmering, boiling over inside of me, that I never had the time to realize that all things hot eventually turn cold. I liked the anger and spite in myself that I mistook for passion. I never listened.
Reading up on all these things, I laugh and I hurt. I remember how broken up I once was. I remember the sadness and discontentment brought about by my loss of identity. I remember how painful it was to learn.
I know all of these, and am familiar with them because in truth, these lessons never stopped. I still hurt and try and bruise and cry-- only, there is a resolute knowledge that something has been gained. I trust the course of nature and decide to learn and live.
Six years ago, I spoke in my freshman college class about my writing. It started with this phrase: "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger". The talk ended on a semi suicidal note prompting a classmate to walk out, crying.
Today, I say that still. Only this time, I believe it. I say it with a smile and know that there are good things to come. I will not be giving up anytime soon.