The Version of Me That Doesn’t Exist Anymore

There’s a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore, and sometimes I miss her — not because she was happier, but because she didn’t know better yet.

She believed effort guaranteed loyalty.

She believed patience fixed everything.

She believed if she just tried harder, things would eventually feel safe.

She tolerated too much.

She explained too often.

She stayed longer than she should’ve.

I don’t blame her. She was surviving with the tools she had.

But she’s gone now.

And I didn’t lose her — I outgrew her.

Tag line:

Unhinged But Alive — that version of me is dead.