Page 27 of Give Me a Reason

Anne,

You left me four years ago, but I haven’t let you go. Not completely.

I am letting you go now.

I will not hate myself anymore because I wasn’t enough for you.

I’m not going to punish myself, working a job that gives me no joy, so I could meet society’s idea of “success”— your idea of success.

I will stop shrinking in on myself with shame that I grew up an orphan.

That I grew up poor. I will not live with impotent anger against my shitty lot in life.

My life has not been shitty. My sister did her best to raise me when she was barely more than a child herself.

I love her, and I’ll always be grateful to her.

And I’m proud of the life I’ve lived. I worked hard to make something of myself.

My every success means more, because none of it was handed to me. I earned every single one of them.

From this moment forward, I intend to be even prouder of the life I choose to live.

I’m going to live my life, doing what I love—something that has meaning to me .

The ghost of your disapproval will no longer dictate the choices I make.

Only I have a say in who I am and what I’m worth.

I will love and value myself the way I deserve, even though you couldn’t… even though you wouldn’t.

I won’t regret letting you walk out the door that night. I’ll stop wishing I’d fought for you harder, scrounging my brain for what I could’ve said to make you stay. You left me four years ago, and… I’m finally letting you go.

Goodbye, Anne.

Frederick