“Write your obituary. “

I would really rather not write my obituary.

I kind of am liking life, which is a feeling I am enjoying to the fullest. I can remember the times where I endured the day to day cycle, wondering what the purpose was. I remember when I was legitimately suicidal and breathing took all of my energy and focus.

I never though of my obituary then. I didn’t think about what people would say about me when I died. And I really would rather not think about my death now, when I feel like there is actually meaning in life, and purposes unfulfilled.

My life will be over when it’s time, and when it is I will not be the one writing about myself.

I like to think good things would be said of me. That I enjoyed life, and that I inspired the people around me. That I tried to find the good in things.

But that is just speculation. Who honestly knows what will be said?

I can, however, write an obituary for the person I used to be.

I have changed and grown so much, and while I still feel like ‘me’, I know that the insecure 14-year-old girl is, in a way, dead. She has transformed into who I currently am, but with any transformation there comes a tipping point where one thing ceases and a new form takes its place.

So while I am still alive, while I continue to strive to be ever better, there is a part of me which will never return, which has been shed and left in the past.

I feel I can write for her, out of respect and understanding.

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In Loving Memory of Who I Was

Here is the shell of what once was. Here are the hurts, the lessons, the injustices, both real and imagined. Here are the struggles, the confusion, the weaknesses, and insecurities. Here are the poisons, the heartaches, the rejections. The loneliness and misunderstandings.

Here is what I used to be.

Lost. Afraid. Young. Unsure.

Here is where it started.

I used to think this self was broken. That she needed to be fixed. That there was something inherently wrong with her very being. I used to look back and think of this past self, this shell, as a negative thing. As weak and unworthy.

But now I see her for what she really was.

The beginning.

From here I was able to grow. From here I learned to flourish and be strong.

This past, this ghost, was not weak. She was never weak. She was a fighter. A fighter who shed the things which held her back.

She was great. She was accomplished. And she was always worthy.

While she may have changed, her core essence endures, and will continue to glow for those around her.

While the girl may no longer walk this plane, the woman she has become does and she will carry on the memory of this girl. This worthy, deserving girl.

Rest well, dear child, and may you continue to enjoy the peace you have righteously found.