All of the things that nearly destroyed you brought you here. You may have blood on your clothes and dirt beneath your finger nails but here you are. You clawed your way through it. Girls like us are only free because we use our voices to speak the hurts. We are only still breathing because we use our lungs to push out the painful honest things. Our fists have bruises from the many nights we fought with our darkness. Phoenix girl. You are strong. Never forget you are stronger than the ones who try to hurt you because you know what it is like to wear your pain buried close to your heart like jagged glass. You know what it is like to pull it out with nothing but your bare hands. You know how to save yourself.
I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself, forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.