M,
It’s been a while since we last spoke—nearly twenty years. I don’t think about you too often, but when I do, I get angry.
You were supposed to be there for me, but you weren’t. I was supposed to be able to count on you, but you ruined that. I hate you for it.
The others get to have you in their lives. If they’re scared or need advice, they can call you. Can I?
I look back on all the years between us; I still remember what you said. I can remember every foul word. You said I was making a mistake. Maybe I did. I’ve had time to reflect, and I know that mistakes were made. I’m not too proud to admit it.
However, I turned out pretty well, all things considered. All of your bullshit—years under your thumb—and I’m still here. I get out of bed every day, and I’m happy. You lost, bitch! No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break me.
You left me with a lot of baggage. I carry it gladly. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.
Every day, I see your face in my mind; I hear your words, and I fight against them. Your existence is a constant reminder that I can be better, do better. I won’t make your mistakes. Whenever I see you in me, I stomp it down. I rebel against you every day, and because of that, I am a good person.
I am happy for the life I’ve lived without you in it.
Sure, there are days when I get angry that you’re not there. I hate you for taking that from me. But then I remind myself that even when you were present in my life, you were never really there.
And after that, I’m okay.
I’m okay.
1.7562 Billion Miles 