There’s a voice in my head that I’ve been living with since that first pee on a stick. She used to sob during the night feeds. She giggles at Pretty Little Liars. She makes me feel guilty about that extra slice of cake; she won’t let me throw out the jeans that make my c-section scar ache. She whispers to me that I’ll find her again one day.
I think it’s time to say goodbye.
But first, thank you. Thank you for having so much fun. Thank you for saying yes to the big man. Thank you for building such amazing friendships. Thank you for the drinking and the dancing and the foolishness. Thank you for the hangovers; their memory makes me miss the dancing less. Thank you for working so hard, for pushing so hard. Thank you for the mistakes you made when I was young enough that they didn’t matter.
I miss you. I will always miss you when I hear Faithless; or Zombie Nation; or Beth Orton. When I see cropped tops, and remember my stomach in the 90s. When I come home tipsy, and alone, because babysitters are too expensive for us both to go out on a school night any more.
But there is no place for you here.
You can’t survive in this new world. You used to actually panic if you had less than 6 hours of continuous sleep. You couldn’t lift heavy weights. A big part of your identity was tied up in being a young, skinny blonde; and the attention it came with it. You’re too self conscious to sing in public; you faint at the sight of blood, and gag at foul smells.
So goodbye. It’s been two years: I will stop waiting for you to return. I have stopped grieving for you. You know why? Because the woman who’s replaced you is incredible. And hard as fucking nails. She’s in it for the long haul. Above all: I finally like her.