I want to live.
I want to have that kind of life that I’ve always wanted. The kind that I can tell my fifteen-year-old self it was worth going through what I had to go through to get here.
I want to be happy. The kind of happy that makes others uncomfortable. To wonder how someone can go through life with such a genuine feeling to them.
I want to wake up in the morning not upset about what the unknown of the day will bring, but grateful I get to see another sunrise.
I want the only tears I cry to be from belly laughs so loud and contagious everyone has no choice but to join in.
I want to never again wait by my phone for a response when the person I’m waiting for that for won’t ever answer, to begin with.
I want to never see a red flag in a person and turn a blind eye, but grab it with my bare hands and destroy it before it consumes me.
I want to never let my sexual assault define me, and I will never stay silent.
I want to speak my mind and be heard so loud it shakes people to their core.
I want to dress how I want, wear my hair like I want, and be who I want without the whispers of other people’s unnecessary opinions.
I want to not fall in love with a person until I fall hard for myself first.
I want to give up the idea that my father wants to be in my life when it’s been half my life since I’ve seen him.
I want to stop crying over that boy who broke my heart three years ago. And I also want to never go back to someone whose idea of love is nothing deeper than between the sheets.
I want to never let the number on a scale define me.
I want to have the kind of memories with friends that you bottle up and save for a rainy day to look back on.
I want to relearn how to get back into what I was passionate about.
I want to read so many books they’re stacked all over my room.
I want to scream loud to a song that defined my college years in the back of my friend’s car at midnight in the summer.
I want to get drunk off Tito’s and Sprite and tell my friends how much I love them.
I want to look up more from my phone instead of letting it consume me.
I want to not be scared for my 27th birthday.
I want to stop caring or believing that everyone around me hates me.
I want to understand and accept my trauma, not suppress it.
I want to not feel guilty about spending money on myself.
I want to buy myself flowers, not wait for a partner to do so.
I want to sleep in on a Sunday and have breakfast in bed.
I want to drive to the beach and watch the waves when it’s below thirty degrees.
I want my milestones and goals to not be defined or finished by a certain age. The best things take time to grow.
I want to learn to be present at every event or place I go.
I want to do more things society tells us are weird to do alone like eat at a restaurant or go to a movie.
I want to never let my depression win.
I want to drive through my old town and watch the leaves change in the Fall.
I want to work out for myself and not for losing weight.
I want to hug my mom and tell her I love her more.
I want to forgive every person who did me wrong.
I want to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see looking back at me.
I want to run out in the rain before the flowers bloom in the Spring.
I want to be at peace.
For this new year, I no longer want to mourn the girl I used to be but celebrate the woman I’m slowly becoming.
Most likely writing in my journals or notes in my phone, burying my face in a book, at a concert, laughing or eating fries. Recent college graduate with a ridiculous dream of wanting to write for a living.