The Second Time

45

A/N: I'm sorry that this is written more plainly (and that it's more cliche) than my other stuff, but it's important, and had to be done. Thank you to those of you who have been reading my stuff. 

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I can breathe again.

Regaining the strength, unblocking my lungs -- that's hard. Unbearably hard. Depressing, miserable, and every synonym for the word "sad" that anyone could ever find. But I can breathe again. And it feels good.

For six months, I was both happy and suffocated. For the first four, I was ecstatic. Beyond content. But the second part, the two months -- that felt like it went on for much longer than the first.

Let no one dare tell me not to listen to the music I want, not to be passionate about what I love, not to do what I want to do. The wounds are here, staring me in the face, and god, they hurt. But they have a healing power. I will come out of this strong, confident, and happy. I will not lose. 

He never knew how much his words affected me. The way in which he made me feel like a terrible person for being the way I am. He loved me, but that wasn't enough; the flaws still stuck out to him, and he always, always had to point them out to me.

Here's to your ego. May it bring you some form of success in your future. I wish you the best; you can't drag me down any longer.