Love Letters to Myself, Part One

Love Letters to Myself- a reflection on 2014, two months later

Dear Me,

As far as you’re concerned this year can take a match, stick it up its ass and light itself on fire. You lost your best friend of almost twenty years over jealousy. Jealousy can be a bitch and bring out the worst in all of us. It’s brought out even the worst in you in the past. You found love on Match.com of all places. You never wanted to do online dating, but she convinced you after you had another set up horribly wrong. She was the one who told you to give it a shot and you found your boyfriend. He’s sweet and he gets you. He’s okay with you having bad days. Everyone does. He hates to see you cry, but is there for you if you need a shoulder to cry upon. 

You cry ugly tears. Big ugly tears. Ones that make your face all puffy. No one wants to see that, but it happens. You cry alone when no one is home. Sometimes the dog comforts you. She knows something is wrong. She knows when you’re in pain, but you tell her you’re okay and hope she’s listening. She tilts her head as though she is and that’s good enough for you. 

You finally let go of everything and start to move on. You even get a tattoo on your right wrist with a few others in Vegas, a lotus flower to symbolize rebirth and growing from the ashes because you feel like this year has done that. It’s been a rebirth of some sort. Though you don’t quite understand everything just yet. 

And then later in the year, at the end of September, your grandma ends up in the hospital from falling unconscious and hitting the concrete. She’s bruised badly, but a fighter. Like I said, it can stick a match up its ass and light itself on fire. This year has been one of many ups and downs. Almost twenty years down the drain over jealousy, but understand, this wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t hers. People grow apart and that’s what you did. You grew apart. Those who love you stuck by and those who didn’t, left. 

Those voices in your head may tell you otherwise. They’re so quick to judge. So quick to make you feel small and worthless, like there’s no point to your life sometimes. But understand, whether or not you get it, there is a point to your life. There’s a point to everyone’s life. Sometimes we just don’t know it yet. We go through the motions. We wake up. We go to work. We strive to be the best we can be. We break down, and when we break, which we haven’t broken like this in years, it feels as though a Mack truck has run over you several times, paused, waited for the pain to sear through every being of your body, and then runs over you again. An almost malicious smile on its face as its doing it that is if a Mack truck had a face. In the end you feel drained, helpless, confused. 

That pain, those voices who tell you can’t, they drive you to be better. They make you strong. They say that only the strong survive, but some of the strongest people you know are the most vulnerable. They break down. They have bad days, horrible no good, very bad days. The ones that make you want to not wake up ever again. The ones that make you question your very being. Those kind of days. But know that in the end only you can make you happy. Only you can cause yourself pain. Only you can make yourself unhappy and only you hold the key to your own happiness. 

Staying with your grandma several days a week at night while she becomes stronger again, you realize several things. That woman has the angels on her side. God works in mysterious ways, but that woman is one of the strongest and calmest women you have ever met, and she makes you strong and calm by just being around her. Two, sleeping beside her in the bed, you learn that she will either have nightmares or some of the most hilarious dreams depending on what she’s last read. You wake up to her blood curdling screams as though someone has grabbed a hold of her and won’t let go. You shake her and calmly whisper, “Grandma, it’s okay,” and she breathes normal again. Or you wake up to her laughing. A laugh straight from the gut and you wonder who she’s talking to. Who she’s with. You tell her the next morning and she tells you it must be the gentleman from the romance novel she was reading. He was telling her this most hilarious story, but she can’t remember all the details. You smile. You ask her about her nightmares and those come from her reading murder mysteries at night. 

We all love curling up to a good book, the feel of the paperback in our hands while we turn the pages, and while you love a good murder mystery yourself, you think you’ll stick with romances. Because in the end our lives should be one big romance novel anyway. Full of joys, sorrows, trials, disappointment, romance, and happiness. You want to wake up smiling, and not screaming. Because who wants to scream bloody murder anyway? 

I want you to tell me your love letters to yourself. Every Friday I'll be posting new love letters. New affirmations. If you're interested, either tweet me @HeatherRiccio or e-mail me.



Peace, love and lots of wisdom,

Heather