Starting Over
Moving on from the past
The ghosts of my past live here.
My journey began four years ago, hoping to make my dream of writing professionally a reality. I didn’t know what to expect; I let the pixel winds guide me where they may — and boy, they took me to strange depths.
I lost and found myself constantly. I lost myself for the final time when my long-term relationship ended, and my world halted. Everything I thought I wanted was lies concocted by a version of myself I thought to be but wasn’t.
I eventually shed the skin of my false self, asking where I want to go. Where do I want to end up? Who do I want to be? Those questions played on repeat, and some days I had answers, sometimes they changed, sometimes they didn’t. And on my worst days, I wondered why I questioned anything at all.
Now in the present, I find myself making connections to the past. It reached its hand out to me in my dreams, and I took it willingly. Show me what you must, I told it.
It showed me horrible nightmares of being out of control, of barely holding myself together. It showed me beautiful visages as if he had never left. I don’t exactly know what it all means, but the feelings they leave me with tell me to press forward, to carve a path of my own — to not let others decide the direction.
So here I am. Making peace with the past, saying hi to my younger, naive, curious self while leaving her in her world; I can’t bring her into this new one. I shall listen to her memories and smile as she reminisces, but I won’t return to a place I no longer belong in, nor would I want to after discovering the pearls of my soul.
So here I am. As me, for me, doing things my way.
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