To the People Who Get You

I'm sure you know the people I'm talking about. The ones who ask the questions you hadn't dared ask yourself. The ones you can tell anything to, even the really bad stuff, because you know they'll still be there. The ones you don't have to explain a back story to, but who will understand and pick you up because they've been there every step of the way.

In a little over two months, I'm going to have to say goodbye to that person. After four years of living together side by side, seeing each other through thick and thin, the world will carry us off into different directions. To say that is a terrifying thought doesn't even begin to do justice to how I feel.

We'll still be in each other's lives, of course, because some who knows me to my very core can't just disappear, but it will be harder. Conversations like the one we had last night, lying side by side and stroking each other's hair, will be held over screens and in person will be confined to the wonderful moments when we're reunited.

But I refuse to despair, because someone who has so fundamentally changed who I am will be carried with me, no matter what. She is now firmly embedded in my thought processes – a "what would my beloved be saying" kind of thing. She has shaped the woman I have become, and together we have moved mountains in the openness of mental health at our school because we decided we were going to. But I wouldn't have done any of it without her.

It's been a really difficult week for both of us for a variety of reasons, and throughout each step we turned to each other because we could. Because we knew that even in the midsts of our stress and emotions and goddamn difficulties there was always a hug, a motivational speech, or even just someone to lie there with when we couldn't sleep. 

This inadvertently turned into a love letter, but I hope you see your own person in the words I have written. To be loved so completely without judgement is a gift that I am grateful for every day of my life. She gets me, and because of her I get to be me, the me I want to be. Aren't I lucky?