January. I had a new experience that I never wanted to leave. It was laced with pain and loneliness I couldn’t explain. I had a lot of time with myself and a lot of time with strangers.

February. I saw my best friend once more before she moved away. I prepared to be a leader in ways that excited me and made me nervous.

March. I received a phone call I never wanted that broke me. I walked through fog until I had to lead an experience I will never forget.

April. I wished I could relive that experience I led over and over. A mouse lived in my room. I helped where I wasn’t needed. I was in more pain than I let on.

May. I continued to hate my job and couldn’t find a way out of it. I celebrated with my best friends. I danced with denial. Friends graduated and moved on. I moved out of the house I had a love/hate relationship with.

June. I traveled a lot more than I thought I wanted, but it was very good.

July. The four year mark (Missing you.). I accomplished a lot. I started to sink, and I don’t think I fully realized it at the time. I was given a lot of opportunities. Visited some very kind friends.

August. Spent even more time with my family. Wondered if I should stay where I was. Went back to a job I hate. I tried to stay positive, even though I had no idea what was going on.

September. Sadness and the feeling of betrayal left me weary. I didn’t know where to turn. I tried to embrace new friends but lacked the energy to do so fully. I continued to sink.

October. I forgot to notice the beauty of fall. I continued to hide the pain I was feeling. I was again reminded I can’t control anyone but myself. I accomplished a huge goal the day one of my best friends moved away: what should have been one of the happiest days of the year was one I couldn’t feel.

November. I realized it had been long enough to name the pain as depression. I prepared for the month ahead, even though it terrified me. I tried to feel thankful.

December. I traveled to places I’d never seen. I saw new things, had a very good time, and tried to hide the anxiety. I came back to my family.

Dear 2015,

You started off well enough. Though, in listing out the months like this, it all just sounds depressing. Not all of it was. I laughed a lot. I smiled. I met new people. I spent time with those I love. I was always fine, even when I wasn’t. I got a lot done. I learned a lot. I made great memories.

But, 2015, I have to tell you: you were also one cruel joke. Because if I don’t get better, you are the year I will point to and blame. I am afraid of the year to come because of you. I have no hope for the year to come and it’s your fault.

I have moved everything out of my bedroom at my parents house. The drawers are empty and all has been taken off the walls. The closet has been stripped bare and the past removed.

It could feel like a clean slate. A fresh start. Instead, it is just empty. I’ve numbed myself to it. I feel only ambivalence, though sadness and panic and hurt may be trying to push their way in. The floor has been swept and the surfaces wiped clean.

It matches me.

2015, you emptied me. You covered everything in me with white sheets, pulled the curtains shut, turned off the lights, and left. Fearfully, I cower in the corner and wonder how to go back or move forward or figure out if I want to do either of those things.

So, 2015, I can’t say I’m sad to see you go. In fact, there is a much angrier, profanity laden letter to you rolling through my mind. On it’s other side is a list of what I am thankful to you for. As always, I am two different opinions, completely contradicting each other. 2015, you were good. You were bad.

You are gone.




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