More than two years ago, I tried to kill myself.
I had absolutely no will to live.
I can't explain this feeling to anyone who hasn't been very depressed-numbness is the best word, although a numbness so steeped in self-hatred that it cannot truly leave you numb, only stunned.
Fast-forward two years later.
I have stood by my father as he fought for his life.
I have successfully fought my bulimia.
I have managed to fall in love and give my trust to another human being.
I have made huge progress in truthfulness.
I may be dumped. My ex may not want me anymore, may not fantasize about me anymore, hold me lovingly anymore. He may even hate me at times, he may fuck others, care for others, forget about me while I still yearn.
But I want to celebrate my pleasure in life. I enjoy living. Even this, this pain, is delightful in its intensity. I am alive. Yeah, I might still have low points and not be the funnest girl on the block, but this is so nigglingly inconsequential, so absurdly irrelevant to me, that I won't even consider it.
Live your life, love your life and reach out to others. Happy Friday.
LA ROBE EN LIN DANS LES BLÉS
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