17 Years

For some really weird reason, for the last year and a half I've been really freaked out by my 17th birthday. I've always felt in my heart that I wouldn't make it to 17, even now I'm freaked that I'm going to like, die in my sleep tonight.
This week I've started trying to figure out why I felt that way for so long. Did I know Chelsea was going to die before my 17th? Or my Uncle Eddie? Or that my ex boyfriend's and I's relationship was going to die?
But right now, I think it's all of those. A year and a half ago I had a different set of friends, a different view on relationships, and I had never lost anyone.
But I know I've lost me, and it's not a bad thing.
I'm a completely different person than I was a year and a half ago, even a year ago. A lot of shitty stuff has happened, discovering cutting, abusing prescriptions, bordering anorexia, breakups, both with my friends and those more than friends, losing one of the closest people in my life. And the person I was couldn't have dealt with it.
But the person I am now, can. And I have. Whoever I was is gone, she died somewhere between all that stuff. And I know that death was agonizing, and it may not even be over. Maybe it's not even a metaphorical death, but I'm not killing myself tonight. And that's a victory all in itself.
I don't know. But at least I'm more ready for it now than I was.
Happy Birthday To Me