I haven’t seen her in 8 years. I never thought I would see her again.
I’ve spent the last 8 years hating my guts for how I treated this person in high school, wondering if she was still alive even. Or if she’d ever forgive me. Thousands of sleepless nights staring into the dark, killing myself for how I could treat someone who did so much right by me like garbage.
She remembered me. And she was happy to see me after all these years. She wasn’t mad or uncomfortable. My face was red the whole time.
I lost so many people this year. So many people I believed in who either got fed up with me, or turned out to be lunatics. One after another, leaving me no time to grieve for the last. I’ve spent so long feeling completely worthless and alone. I’ve spent close to a decade thinking I deserve to be lonely.
Talking to my old gym partner again for the first time in a decade, it made me realize what a friend really looks like. A friend doesn’t toss four years of emotional and financial support into the trash, over a disagreement. A friend doesn’t stop talking to you on Skype just because your mental illness is bumming him out.
A good person isn’t someone with a lot of tumblr followers or artistic talent, or a lot of money and success. A good person isn’t someone with an audience cheering them on. Being a good person means appreciating the good in others.
I get to come back. I’m allowed to be happy, to move past my sins and be better to myself and other. I deserve to be here, and to help others, even if nobody else can appreciate that. To hell with anyone who wants to throw that away. I get to be the man my friend believes in.
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