I tried to kill myself four months ago.
I can’t really fathom doing so now. I can remember the despair and hopelessness I felt, but it’s hard to really think about. I don’t believe in putting bad feelings to rest (in the sense of burying them without resolving the issue), but I also don’t believe in feeding the feelings either. I look back at those times with empathy, but also with distance.
It’s my least favorite chapter of my life. It is one of the most important, however, and I only look back when I need to learn more lessons from it.
But I’m glad I tried, and I’m glad I failed. I couldn’t be who I am now if I didn’t fail.
I can fail as many times as I like, but I will never lose. I will rise again and win my peace.
I know who I want to be now. I made myself a list of things I want to do, people I want to see or meet, things I want to accomplish. I want to celebrate my life with myself and others. I’ve never done that before, and I want to start. 
My mistakes and my accomplishments are mine. I don’t care how ugly or how beautiful they are: they’re mine and I own them. They are within me and don’t belong to anyone else. No one can belittle or champion them and simultaneously affect how I feel about those things. You are not me, and I have no business caring about you speaking your two cents about how I fell or rose. I am what matters.
I do not reject myself. No longer. I embrace all the blemishes and beauty marks, the bruises and the birth marks, the smudges and the blush. 
I will never lose, as long as I embrace and love myself.