I remember 22.

It was the year I first fell apart.

Fell apart hard enough to outweigh my fear of being a disappointment after 21 years masquerading as the perfect daughter.

I wish I had done it sooner.

It was time. It was time to let the world down and show the truth about who I was.

And sweetie,


I wish you peace from that horrible pressure, and a long, beautiful life.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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