Dear Seventeen-year-old Me,

I hate you.

No, no, I guess I don't hate you. But I sure do hate parts of you. I hate the part of you that didn't work for what you said you wanted. What the hell was that?

I apologize, Seventeen-year-old Me, because I know you will be disappointed in my use of the word hell, but "what the heck" just sounds like a joke to me now.

You worked a bit, I'll give you that, but when it came down to it, to the parts that mattered the most, you did next to nothing. You were holding your dreams in your hands and you sat back and watched as life took it away from you. You yelled and screamed and complained, but you didn't fight! You didn't even move!

So I say to you again, what the hell was that? And this time I do not apologize. Because now I don't have something to defend, 'cause you went and got a big head and lost it. So I will fight to gain back what you lost, and then I will fight even harder to keep it.

Because even though I loathe parts of you, you have taught me to fight for the things I want, the things I love, the things I dream about.

And for that I love you.
And for that I thank you.

See you sooner than you think,
-VT