They say nothing lasts forever and that friendships come and go so maybe I was setting myself up for failure by expecting things to be different. I’ve always felt like unless things last forever it was never real to begin with. Maybe that’s unfair. Despite how I might feel now, no one can deny that I was saved by a field of lily flowers.

Growing up I had no sense of self, my true self. I was whatever she painted on me. Basket case. Over emotional. Sensitive. Boy crazy. Drama queen. Liar. Unstable. I never had any sense I could be something different. The darkness was not a stranger to me. It was all I knew.

There was no surprise that I left a home of tortured darkness for another. Letting him viciously paint on me the way she had. Stupid. Lazy. Incompetent. Fat. Ugly. Over dramatic.

It was as if I was constantly being hollowed out day after day. Nothing grew in the wasteland of my soul. But this was all I knew: this trail of darkness and believing their torturing lies. Until that day I walked into a field of lily flowers.

The sun was hot, I was in the one place I could open my shattered soul. I could feel the energy and peace. Then you. Your yellow hair and honey smile. Your laugh like little fairies spreading magic in the land. You saw the darkness behind my mask. You saw the emptiness behind my puffed up chest.

I told you my secrets. I told you my pain and all the stories of monsters I had barely survived. You pulled me up to see things from your point of view. The me that was dying from the slow acting poison I was continuously drinking. “Escape.” You whispered.

I value honesty and communication. I like candy and horror movies. I write. I sing. I love photography and traveling. I really love Disneyland and Tim Burton movies. I might be sensitive but I am compassionate and kind. I might be lazy but I am responsible and can take care of myself. You showed me the door to the canvas in order to paint myself. Life isn’t about finding yourself but creating yourself.

But then, almost as if you were the Mary Poppins of trauma, you disappeared. You faded from my life - moving on to live your own. Maybe I should just cherish what we had. Maybe helping me fix me was too much for you. Maybe you had just had enough of this friendship. Maybe you don’t understand communication as I do. But you left. You’re gone and I’d give anything to hear your voice. To have you call me your best friend again and say that you love me.

Don’t worry, I’m doing just fine. My legs and backbone are strong enough now I can stand on my own. I’m still painting my canvas and I’m careful not to let anyone else hold the brush. I like myself as I am, for who I am. I’ll always be grateful. I’ll always love you.