Your time is almost over, it’s time I acknowledge you in all your grandeur: Hi, 2017. I’m happy to see you go.
I aim to be frank in this letter in hoping you understand how you changed me, how you helped me, the decisions I made because of you, and the hold you had on my life.
I’m sorry. Forever isn’t for us. I’m moving on as I have with the years that came before you.
2018 arrives in 8 more hours. Let’s air it all out.
You – you were brilliant as you served your time. You were devastating, distracting, depressing and honorable. When we first met I was kicking and screaming for mercy. Now out souls are bare before each other. I feel a bit empty. You’ve taken so much and you keep on, trying for those last drops of me.
I’m tired, but I’m determined. It’s time to cut the rope, to let you go.
One last hurrah, OK?
I wanted to do so much this year. I had plans, dreams and goals this year. You dragged them all out and tore at me until I was fighting desperately to keep it all going. You infested my soul with doubt, my heart with dread and my lungs with stale air. Disinterest tugged at the edges of my vision. It haunted me.
For every stitch I sew you tore out three. For every seed, four were uprooted. I fought some of the hardest battles of my life to date, and to 2018 I bring the scars, pain and tears. You waged a war for my soul, I’m sorry to disappoint. My sword may be flimsy, maybe a bit rusted, and my swing may be undisciplined but I’ve held against the bloody metal of your pain. My pams bear callouses, my swings are sure and strong. Thank you for teaching me to hold my own.
The time between my dreams has been served.
We have five more hours together, how would you like to spend them?
I have boundaries you are no longer allowed to cross. Tread carefully, 2017.
I have four hours with which to express what I feel for you.
I’m not bittersweet when I look back on you. We had some good moments, I will grant you this. We drank too much tea together and maybe we spent too much time beating the crap out of each other. Peace and war. We painted nails, did our makeup, cut our hair and then rolled over to destroy the good we’d made. Destruction met us in our dreams. Death parted ways with our minds. Only one of my nails is broken as I write this. I guess this is a thank you for leaving me in one piece.
2018 promises more fighting, further pain, but also greater victory. I have stumbled many times this year, but every time you let me pick myself back up before you struck me again. I’ll let the double punch few weeks ago slide, we’re even now.
I’ve almost earned the equal footing we share now. Cheating once in April doesn’t count, you double crossed me – I’ll leave the frustrated insults for later, you migraine inducing monster. We battled faith, politics, mental health, school and writing. I suppose you have a few more punches you’d like to get in before I knock you out. What will it be next, hmm?
Is this how we part? Too many barbs and not enough love? I want to know why. I want to scream at you. Maybe one last hug before the year ends is too much to ask? I remember how you welcomed me in, still running off my victorious high from 2016. It didn’t last long did it.
2017, you brought discouragement, disillusionment, fear, anger, and you ripped the bandaid off a little too slowly. You banded together unlikely allies; our prayers have never been more fervent. We’re coming out of this year worse for wear, but the most important thing you gave us: determination to continue to fight. We have a lot to avenge, a lot to contend, and a lot to oppose. I don’t think it was your intention, but I’m stronger now. You stepped on my confidence, but now it can hold your weight. You tried to drown my soul, but now it can swim. You tried to break my spirit, but now it can fly.
You did your worst, I’m almost sorry it wasn’t enough to pull me down.
You have four hours let, use them wisely.
A very disgruntled writer