Denouemont

Five months ago I would have wrapped my own story. Like the beautiful, talented, and gentle, Timothée Chalemet, I would be crying into the fire listening to Sufjan Stephens. The credits would role over my face, like the millions of people who kept walking and living while I sat in my parents basement unclean and unkempt.

I know that my story, and level of peril, it not significant in terms of the universe. The weight that crushed me came from the injustice of others, helicopter parents, and an over-treated anxiety disorder. Flint still doesn’t have water, Syria is genocide, and TRUMP IS OUR PRESIDENT. The world was too much with me, it felt like at that time, and I needed to get out.

I feel as though what I have been given over the past five months has been an abundance of love and support. I always say in therapy that I feel so alone, and my therapists reminds me to look around me. I don’t know how it happened or what I did, but I am so lucky to be surrounded by this kind of support. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Whatever I am given next is a bonus. My denouement is what some people would consider a beginning, but that would discount everything that has happened so far. So many components of my story seem so long ago, but they were there, they happened. I have to start again. I am so lucky to start again.

My future would not be possible without the outpouring of support I have gotten over the past five months. I want to thank my parents, URBN Inc for gainfully employing me across 3 states and the entire country. My friends, all of my friends. My high school friends who keep me grounded, and love me with a love that honestly I’ve never felt before. I am so lucky. My college friends, who despite growing our friendship during the other hardest time of my life, have shown me unconditional support and love, and have listened to all of my crazy ideas about the future. I love you all so much. Thank you to my therapist, who my mom frantically called on our way across Wyoming, and got me in right away. I would, literally, not be standing here without you. Thank you to my high school theology teacher who I ran into at Noli’s pizza the day I got home from California, and without knowing the story, letting me know it’ll be ok. Mostly I am thankful for time, and being 23, and having the privilege and ability to start over and try again.

Thank you.

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