Today, I woke up and after three months, I am finally writing again. I woke up feeling so much like myself again. Unsure. Insecure. Imperfect. Me. That after months of thinking, “yeah, but he doesn’t like girls who curse..” I say, FUCK you. That after months of thinking, “yeah, but I have to go to the gym because he says I am fat,” I ate a hamburger with fries, looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “Damn, I look good.” That after months of him calling me stupid. I think.
I woke up today, breathing in the sunlight. I made my coffee, and I let it get cold just the way I like it. I painted my toe nails white, and my finger nails pink because I like it. I woke up, for the first time in three months, being sure of myself. Knowing that you don’t owe me. Knowing that I love you so much that it hurts. Knowing that I ignore the things that you say to make me feel bad because, baby, you are going through such a hard time.
Baby, I get it. Your mom is sick. Baby, I get it. You are all alone. Baby, you are right, I am too ugly for other men. Baby, you are right, I hate running but I love the running shoes you got me for my birthday. Baby, you are so sweet. Baby, you woke up at five to make me coffee? And you complained about it the entire day, I am so ungrateful, you are the sweetest. Baby, I go to work at six and get back home at eight, and you watched a Sopranos re-run, but baby, aren’t YOU tired? Let me cook for you.
Today, after three months I realized that I love myself more than I will ever love you. You think I am ugly, fat, stupid. You are God-like, you are so handsome, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, right, baby? NO. Fuck you. I am the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am awesome.
In spite of everything, I survived. Today, I wrote for the first time in three months… and here is what I wrote. Dear Jane, You are beautiful. You are sweet. You are smart. And I may be insecure. unsure. and imperfect. But I love me that way.