Sometime in the Next 365 Days...

I'd like to imagine that the gal you see here has spent the last year
or so recouping in a bar somewhere in Europe, eating the finest of
foods, drinking the best of hard liquor and languorous wines,
learning a new language, and delighting in the anonymity
of health, well-being, and a quiet mind.

I'd like to imagine that whatever corner of the earth she has been
hiding in, she'll be ready to leave, to come back, when I eventually
meet her.  Re-meet her.  

I'd like to think that I am going to to come face to face with myself somewhere in the world.  Sometime in the next 365 days I'd like to come face to face with the self that I have spent so much time annihilating, pushing around, and starving.  I'd like to meet the self who was once mostly happy, most of the time.  I wish that the self who writes in her diary about self-dismantling and deprecation; the self who disparages and desecrates; the self who hates; could meet that other self.
I wish they could meet so that I could merrily write something happy- something that my Aunts would approve of and my father would begin reading again- and have it not be forced, not be a lie to try and convince people that I am on the up-and-up.

I hope they meet and remember that once, not even so long ago in the grand scheme of things, they made up the same person- the same whole person.  The same whole, mostly unfractured person.  I want the self who, depressed, takes anti-depressants every morning to meet the self who didn't need them- and remember how golden she was; they were.  I want them to stare at each other, acknowledge each other, and embrace each other.

It does not matter where she went or what she was doing while she was there.  She needed time to be protected and I needed time to fall apart.

Even in how bad I've been, there has still been goodness... there had to be.  Sometime in the Next 365 Days I have to believe that it will once again be mostly goodness.

Until Next Time, My Friends.