I knock on the door, shaking.
They answer, tell me to come in.
"I am not my self" I say.
"That's okay" they say.
I hesitate, brace for impact.
"Its okay" they say.
I stumble, asking for forgiveness.
"For what?" they say.
The past four years have been a triumph of self loathing, of learning to apologize while regretting saying sorry. I have felt I am not even a person without a bottle or a pill. I do not know where my story began, and where I wish it ended. But I am slowly learning to be okay, to accept myself, I think that is why it has taken me such a long time to write.
The thing is, I don't know who I am, I have been a couple different souls: some are weak, some are strong, some are as passive as ocean sand.
I'm 22, female, and lost.
I have contemplated death many times, I've attempted it even more. If you are still reading I applaud you. Bless your soul.