I wish I could say I was sleeping.
I wish I could say while I was lying awake at night not sleeping, I was writing a more thought out and concise post that explained what this surgery actually entails.
I wish I could say I’ve spent the past month kicking ass at my job.
I wish I could say I haven’t been wearing yoga pants and sweatshirts to work.
I wish I could say that there haven’t been numerous occasions where I’ve locked myself in my office at work, turned up Justin Bieber, and hid under my desk so my coworkers wouldn’t hear me crying.
I wish I could say I haven’t made the conscious decision to not to wear makeup this month because I knew I would cry at least once during the day.
I wish I could say that when I met the Mayor of Nashville at the “Vagina Monologues” on Friday, I didn’t blurt out “I’m getting my boobs cut off” and then immediately start crying.
I wish I could say I haven’t drunk a bottle of wine every night for the past two and a half weeks.
I wish I could say I haven’t stalked the Australian on social media and saw that he is currently in New Zealand, with his new girlfriend, on a trip that we had planned to take together.
I wish I could say I haven’t drafted up an email to send to the Australian telling him about this surgery.
I wish I could say I’ve been a good friend this month.
I wish I could say that I am a strong, powerful feminist. And when my doctor told me that this surgery is more difficult for single women, I wish I could say that I was not affected.
I wish I could say I was brave…
But then there’s you. I’ve been an absolute mess. A well preserved, “everything’s fine, this surgery will be a piece of cake,” mess and you are the reason why I made it through this past month
I want to thank each and every one of you for your emails, calls, texts, and messages. They are the reason I was able to get out of bed each morning this month, and they will be the reason I am able to get out of bed tomorrow morning. I am truly grateful to have each of you in my life. Thank you for making me feel brave. – Sue