Dear Reality,
You know, you can be a real **** sometimes. You stick out your hand to help me up just to push me back down and laugh. I wasn't aware of you when I was 5 and I could disappear in my own little world with my crazy blonde curls, dolls, and imaginary husband (who I insisted eat at the dinner table.) But then one day you slapped me in the face and put my life into my two small hands and told me to make it good. You showed me rejection, hate, guilt and how it felt for people to hate me just because. You told me that when I held my head high I would feel good, but then someone told me to duck. But when I felt like the world was crashing down around me and I was a tiny microscopical dot on the earth and my life was falling apart while still in my hands and my tears like a river of emotions flowing into oceans of regret and guilt, you made the rivers evaporate into clouds of "get over it." And I know it will rain, and puddles will form in holes left irreplaceable but I will remember to wear rain boots. I can't hide in blankets of excuses. It will not stop raining but you taught me to bring an umbrella. When life turns into a big wave, I'll grab a surfboard. Or when life throws me on a roller coaster, I'll grab a car and buckle up, but I won't close my eyes because I might miss something. And when I finally realize that the big scary world, doesn't have to be so scary, I will thank you reality.