An open letter to 2015

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.