Life do get better. It does really.
I want to tell that to the February me, lost in the grip of the worst existential crisis. Hiding and hyperventilating in toilet just thinking about how insignificant she is. How she may just be stuck in this city, with a job that drains her passion, and questioning if this is as good as it gets. Everyone seems to be living but her. February me was desperate to live for something.
And the February me will think about the 2021 me. Because as terrible as February me felt, 2021 me was absolutely devastated, being thrown into the storm, surrounded by toxicity and no apparent escape in sight. Those months felt like a surreal fever dream, leaving me hollow and resentful of the world.
Life do get better. I still go to bed crying on some nights for different reasons. There are people you have yet met who will come to appreciate you, there are people who will always welcome you with open arms. There are things you learn to let go, and things you’ve learnt to lower your guards for.
31 july 23