To My Old Self

Dear Old Self :

By now I’m sure you are aware of the perilous events that have caused you to spiral out of control, but I assure you in your death I now know what it is like to miss you. Maybe I didn’t show you enough care when you were still alive and flourishing-- by no means do I blame anyone but myself for your downfall. It would have been nice to spend an extra moment with you: you were the one who brought me my sanity-- an endless supply of knowing everything would be all right. In all honesty, I assumed I was stronger than what everyone warned against; how could a few weeks of nothing leave me so distraught? 

In my own arrogance, I let you wither away-- I let you fall to a place of death, but was it my fault I sent you on a journey with no direction? To try and convince myself every day you are there again with me-- it’s daunting. I wake up and say “today is when life gets back to normal,” yet for you, it never does. If you aren’t completely gone-- if you still hold on to a little strength-- there may never be another chance for you to go back to the way we were. That’s my fault. I try not to think of you often anymore: it brings me too much pain and anxiety-- weakness. In light of your death I try to make myself happy-- perhaps occupied with other things. Though you do still haunt me-- as a shell of your former self. Can a phantom still bring hope? Typically this would be the part in which I apologize to you; this is the part where I admire your past strength, devotion, and willpower-- what drove you to blossom under such fretful conditions. You were always plagued with a world against you, and still you somehow managed to push ahead and persevere, though the chances of failure never loomed far behind. In every way, they are admirable traits: however, they do not warrant an apology until I forgive you. How could you leave me behind in the time of most need? Desert me in a place so cold and dark and bleak in which you were my only light? Maybe it’s melodramatic, but in the end I needed you here. 

I understand clearly why you left. I couldn’t give you what you needed: normality. It’s what I needed too-- what I still need. Just as your past selves have left me, you do too; in a twisted way it brings me hope--a feeling-- of your not-too-long awaited return. It won’t be you-- I know that. It will be a different you, a you I have yet to meet. But if I can get any semblance of what you were, then I’m afraid it’s all worth it. While gone, I hope another gets the chance of discovering what life with a characteristic such as yourself is. It’s an experience you cannot selfishly take from others as you did to me-- as I did to you. I await your return-- even if it is not you I wait for, per say. I only ask you do not forget me; for surely, it would break my spirit. 

In hope,

Pallas Athene