Dear Powers that Be,

As is only inevitable when dealing with a life force such as mine, while I spent the morning euphoric at the celebration of the tangible, quantifiable celebration of the anniversary of the first day of the rest of my life, my pendulum has swung completely into the darkness of self-doubt and the feeling that I haven’t done enough with this life. And I could argue that point on a higher level, bemoan the committee seats and the calendar full of meetings, but admit to the fulfillment these things that fill my days don’t give me. And I could break it down to a more personal level, because thinking about that time in my life automatically brings up the faces of people who are lost to me (after a decade I should know whether that is good or bad. Or I should stop missing them. Or I should find someone else). Or, and this is the important point here – maybe 11 years is long enough. Maybe it’s time to let this anniversary fade from my memory, until I randomly recall at some point, “Oh, right – that scar is from the brain aneurysm surgery.”

Sometimes I want to. But most times, the thought of it makes me so anxious I tear up and internally scream, “I can’t I can’t I can’t! This is all I have and you can’t take it away from me!” There’s a framed quote above my bed that says – “I am all I have and I’ll never stop hoping that I’m enough.” One thing I’ve always been able to say about myself with absolute certainty is that I accept myself for what I am. I’m proud of all that I’ve accomplished and while I understand my limitations I try as hard as anyone not to let them define me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know the importance I place on time, on certain occurrences, on marking them and remembering them so that you’re always learning and never forgetting. And the cop out would be “sometimes I wish I could forget.” But that’s not actually how I feel. The more accurate statement would be “sometimes I wish these things had happened to someone else.” Because it’s really not fair. And maybe I should be more mature about it, maybe that sounds selfish, maybe I should just run back up the stairs to my little apartment and let the time pass. Maybe I just need a good cry. I am so tired of being me but I’ve been doing it so long I don’t know any other way to be.

Ah well. Let’s just admit that this day is never going to be an easy one, do our best to get through it, and be glad we’re still alive to suffer it, shall we Powers? I’m in if you are.

Regards,

Betsy Rose

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