Last night halfway into a margarita and an episode of Girls I stumbled across my diary from 2001. My sixteen year old self rambled to me and all I could think was eleven years passed and I’m standing in the same place just 350 miles away.
A smirk entered my mouth as I recalled the love letter sent to a crush. How ballsy of me, I thought.
It’s interesting the things I remembered and those I didn’t. Those worthy of writing eleven years ago faded in my present day memory as insignificant. But I remember how small I felt at that Florida trip with my best friends. The tumultuousness of female relationships. The passed notes and barely contained eyerolls. Marta’s a fiend for instant gratification. I was. I am. I probably always will be.
How funny to read of losing my virginity. How much disdain I had for my friends that valued sex like it was a precious gift. I could never, would never feel that way.
I can’t seem to stop eating despite so desperately wanting to be thin. Oh, my sixteen year old self, I still cannot. I have written those words all too recently, but held the food still in my stomach the acid not rotting my throat like it once had.
I keep wanting Matt to be my hero, to save me. But he doesn’t understand. I love him so much and yet I keep thinking who could love me more? There was this gap of months where I didn’t write too caught up in love, my first love. The boy I moved 350 miles for. The one who could never complete me.
I feel like I have matured so much and yet I have no idea who I am.
Yesterday, in what closely could resemble an argument The H told me that I am always going in circles. I reassured him that this meant that he’ll always know where I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I just disappeared if anyone would notice at all.
There was this incompleteness to me. I kept trying to find people and things to fill it. What I have accepted now, eleven years later, is that this is just a part of who I am. That I may always reach for more, but that doesn’t belittle what I already have.
What my 16 year old self taught me is that all I have ever wanted chased and sought after was love. Always giving more than others could give, always pursuing a ghost.