I’ve grown so much so fast I have stretch marks on my brain. I’m where I want to be. I’m a person that doesn’t talk to my family or check in on birthdays. Gift giving and family vacations have become so lopsided it feels like charity and I don’t actively participate in that either. I can’t afford to visit my hometown and even if I did, I’d only tell certain people I’m traveling. My chosen family loves that I exist while my blood relatives seem to generally disapprove. I’m pretty sure someone I share DNA with voted for Trump and I’m afraid to ask who it is. I’ve been sheltered in a completely new way since moving to Seattle.

I’m too proud to ask for help unless I really need it. I know it’s impossible to do everything on my own. The people that love me know that I only ask when I really mean it. Because of that I’m slightly in debt financially but thoroughly invested in a few people’s hearts. After a year of fluctuating stress and periodic disease, I’m in a position to work hard for my money. I won’t ever make six figures. Fortunately, I don’t need to because I like where I live. I have a wealth of wisdom and good nature to live off of. My faith in equality has paid off and I’ve found a decent home for stubborn honesty.

I’ve always been too smart for my own good. Now I can at least utilize some of that to help make the world a better place. I have a chance to settle in and aim for my particular moon. If I never make the shot I’ll at least die trying in a place that didn’t kill me. If I succeed, I probably won’t change much. The only difference between my life right now and success is the chance to touch someone’s life with joy. The longer I spend happy that I’m alive the greater my chances to improve the lives around me. We are all struggling with the same wants and needs. Taking care of myself first is the only way to truly help someone else.