ScarletSins.
That's who I am. That's who I've always been, underneath all the self-sabotage, and unwashed hoodies, and three-day-old coffee mugs.
This closet—this whole apartment, this wholelife—it proves it. This is what the writer looks like when she stops hiding. When she stops performing poverty and dysfunction like they're personality traits.
I'm... cool.
The thought is so foreign it almost makes me laugh. But it's true, isn't it? I'm cool now. I have my shit together. I wake up at 5 AM and go for runs and drink lattes I don't finish because I can afford to waste six dollars on a beverage I'm using as a prop.
But even as I'm standing here having this moment of self-actualization—thislook at me being a whole-ass personepiphany—something else crashes into my brain.
A character flaw. A major one.
The old apartment.
I just... walked away from it. Packed two suitcases and left everything else sitting there like a crime scene I couldn't bear to process.
All of it stillthere, waiting. Like some kind of horrible museum exhibit of who I used to be.
The Girl Who Gave Up: A Retrospective.
I left it because... what? Some fucked-up part of me thought maybe I'd go back one day? That I'd need an escape hatch back into dysfunction if this whole "being okay" thing didn't work out?
Why the fuck would Ievergo back?
I need to get rid of it. All of it. Every last piece of that life I've been dragging around like dead weight.
Like, right now. Tonight. This minute.
I grab my laptop and flip it open with more force than necessary. The screen glows to life and I navigate to Google with shaking hands.
Junk removal Idaho Falls.
A dozen results appear and I click the first one with a functioning website. There's an online booking form and I fill it out rapid-fire, barely reading the questions.
Address. Date. Time. Special instructions.
Take everything. I don't care where it goes. Just get it out.
I hit submit before I can second-guess myself.
It's late and I'm tired, so I'm putting this day to bed. But tomorrow I'm going over there to grab the two things I still want and burn the past down so I can never crawl back into it again.
Holyshit. I have a goal.
The realization makes me pause, laptop still warm on my thighs, cursor blinking on the confirmation screen.
I have agoal. An actual, concrete, "I'm going to do this thing tomorrow" goal that isn't just "survive" or "try not to implode."
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Small at first, then wider.
After six months of aimless wandering and depression, the new me is... here.
I'mhere.
I'mher.
The girl in the mirror with the platinum hair, and the statement pieces, and the abs she didn't know she had.
