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She's dead. I buried her a long time ago.

 

Anguish by August Friedrich Schenck

If you're looking for her, she's dead; I buried her a long time ago. You see, I had no choice but to get rid of her. If you're searching for the young girl who danced with naivety and wore trust like fragile glass, she's gone, long gone.

But even though I let her go, I found someone better: someone brave, kinder yet firm. A person unafraid to say "No" because she knows she doesn't deserve to be treated wrongly or looked down upon. Someone unafraid to speak her mind because she understands the importance of being just and fair, not just for herself but for those around her as well.

It was uncomfortable to be with her initially, but I slowly embraced it. I started to like her, and she became my friend. Being with her means I have to get used to every depth of her being, her happiness, sadness, playfulness, anger, anxiousness, and even her loneliness. Although there were times I was angry at how foolish, uncertain, and ignorant she was in some situations, I learned that she is only human. She is the version of me born from ruin, tempered by truth, forged in silence.

I’m still figuring things out. I’m learning more about myself every day, all the different versions of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I’m learning to love myself, not because I’ve got it all together, but because I keep trying. The girl I once was has been laid to rest, but in her place, there’s someone new, someone who’s growing, grounded, and finally learning to live in the moment. 

Some days, I still catch glimpses of the girl I buried, like shadows flickering in familiar places. In an old song, a scent, a memory I didn’t mean to revisit. And for a moment, I grieve her again. Not because I want her back, but because she was trying, desperately trying, with the little she knew.

But growth asked me to let go. And healing? Healing asked me to stay.

Now, I don’t chase who I was or cling to who I should be. I just show up, as I am. Some days, I arrive with open hands. Other days, I show up with trembling knees and a tired heart. But I show up, still. And that’s enough.

I’ve stopped waiting for perfection to knock before I let myself feel proud. I’ve stopped apologizing for needing space, rest, or simply not knowing. This version of me. Flawed, healing, learning is not a replacement. She is the dawn after the longest night. 

Not louder, not harder, just… truer.

And that, I think, is what becoming really means.

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