Hey, 2015.
I’ve got something to say to you, you dirty son of a bitch.
You barreled into me like a juggernaut. It took you less
than a week to break me. You wanted my head on a platter, and there were days I
nearly handed it over. I hurt people, and people hurt me, and those don’t
cancel out; they multiply, and they keep hurting. You put me on trial – my motives,
my actions, my beliefs – again and again, and I learned things that paralyzed
me with shame and disappointment. I lost. I’m still losing.
So I came into this reflection wanting nothing more than to
say, Fuck you, 2015.
But.
My hurt drove me to create things.
My self-examination motivated me to change.
In my loss, I sought community, and the friends I’ve found
have kept me on my feet more often than they know.
So here’s what I have to say to you, 2015.
You wanted me to hide, and I did. But I hated it, so I threw
my doors wide open.
You wanted me to give up on myself, and I did. But then I built
myself up into a new thing with new worth.
You wanted me to bury my head in my hands, and I did. But
then I lifted my wet, contorted face and locked eyes with every human who had
the heart to look at me. And I loved the hell out of them.
You wanted me to cower, and I did. But then I roared.
So fuck you, 2015.
And thanks.