I've been trying to figure out what to say for the past few weeks.
The truth is, I'm okay.
The truth is, it's been roughly ten months, and I've changed. In those ten months, I have:
Dropped a pant size, run a leadership conference, spoken in front of one thousand high school students and teachers, gotten a piercing, joined an advanced conditioning class, won first attendant for the Sweethearts Royalty pageant, went to Kentucky, took a state title, went blonde, went back to a deep brunette, had someone ask for my number and later ask me out to dinner, had someone give me his number and take me out to coffee the next night, felt secure, lost my sense of guilt, took an advanced conditioning class, regained my self, been accepted to college, celebrated my eighteenth birthday, moved houses, read some fantastic pieces of literature, performed in The Scarlet Pimpernel, been chosen as the editor in chief of the literary magazine, ran away for a weekend, fallen asleep on someone's shoulder, designed a tattoo, written the highest-scored papers in my AP classes, gotten to the point where I can bench more than I ever have before, finished my Sterling Scholar portfolio, written a business plan, taken up kick boxing, started working on my bucket list, got a job, quit my job, made mistakes, made some fantastic choices, watched my mom crumble, had two siblings get in trouble with the law and be suspended from school, attended the wedding of someone I don't know, tried Thai food, went to New York, ate lobster on Pier Nine overlooking the Statue of Liberty, been to the Top of Rockefeller Plaza, cried on the flight home, driven more hours than I want to count, sliced open my finger where I now have a scar, written a short story, written a song with a melody, written a poem with a hip hop feel, bought Anna Karenina, lied to my parents, was brutally honest with my parents, talked someone out of suicide, felt lost, found my way, met some incredible people, saw Inception, spent New Years up at the cabin, had family dinners with a family other than mine, had someone ask me how to prove how much I mean to them, felt like I was suffocating, felt the ease of a breath of fresh air, watched my sister's heart get broken, kept my tears back and appeared cold-hearted when I was only meaning to stand my ground, unknowingly served as a muse to an artist, and...
So much more.
I've changed. My path was joined with yours for a while, and then you chose your God over me, and I continued on my own path. I chose the fork to the left, and you chose the fork to the right.
And as we continue on, the space between grows larger, a space filled with the changes both of us are experiencing, and we are left with only the idealized visions we have of one another in our mind. I like to think I know you, but I know who you were; I am not there to see the changes you are making, just as you are not here to see mine. The paths I am choosing may bring our paths back to cross at some future point, but my road is much less traveled and yours is relatively set and rutted out for you. There is nothing wrong with that at all, but it is not the life I want for myself. Even if it were, I wouldn't be happy subjecting myself to the path you are seeking out.
You chose your God, and I am choosing mine.
The only truly difficult part of this process is knowing that I will disappoint you. There is no changing that fact, and you are one of the many that will be disappointed in me.
I am okay with that, and wish you could be as well.
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