Thank you for forcing me to chase my dreams, instead of you.
I don’t thank you for cheating. But I thank you for the resulting hurt. Because now I know I can feel.
Thank you for the words you left unsaid, as it left me to fill my world with twice as many.
Because you left me, I learned that people won’t stay with me forever.
You aren’t an adjunct because you aren’t a brilliant teacher, you can’t work full time, or you simply don’t deserve it. You are an adjunct because administrators think that our retention rates will improve with newer computers, prettier hallways, more events, and better courtyards. They think that money is better spent on making the campus snazzy than on giving their teachers a living wage.
However, as broken as it seems sometimes, as harsh and dangerous as it looks from a distance, there’s a beauty to it upon closer inspection. Much as there is a method to the madness, there’s a beauty to the destruction.
You deserve so much more than a day, you deserve more than just a cake, more than just a greeting—you deserve the world.
There’s another number that goes along with all of the rest that are neatly categorized within the multitude of numbers that make up the story of my own anorexia. That number is seven – seven years this month, since Dr. Riggs lost her battle to cancer.
Thank you for teaching me that I am worth something.
Thank you for teaching me to never take anything too personal. We were always teasing each other, looking for ways to embarrass one another, and making fun of ourselves together.