subject line: time.



Tonight, I talked to somebody 10 years younger than me. I told him, “It gets better, but not always. It gets easier, but not always. Usually, but not always.”

What I want is for someone 10 years older than me to tell it like it is.

I want to know when I’ll stop thinking about her—the friend-who-was-not-a-friend who did everything in her power to wreck me. I want to know when the thought of what she did and said to me won’t sting, won’t make me want to cry—and this, more than anything else—won’t make me feel powerless. Like she was right.

I want to know when I’ll stop hating myself for mistakes I made so many years ago. I want to know if that ever happens. I want to know so many things that I don’t know.