A new year's present for you.

You know, that day? When I wanted a shot of bourbon, more than anything in the world, ... well, did I go out and buy a bottle of bourbon.

No.

Did I have a drink from my secret space?

No.

Why?

'Cause I'm strong, and powerful, and a girl of her word?

No.

No. Not that. Do you know the only reason why I didn't have that shot of bourbon, or a drink of any kind?

It was because of you.

Because I just know, when I write, 'Oh, I'm a shit,' you are so gonna write back, 'oh, you poor baby, and you're so not!' (because you are so you, and you are so sweet that way, that way you just don't listen to me!)

AND you're going to demand I step up, like, 'where's that next chapter you promised yourself you'd write?' or 'where's that next chapter you promised me you'd beta?' [ed: okay, okay, okay! Can I please deliver ch 3 tomorrow, huh?] or 'luv ur story, update soon!'

And I was like ... well, I was like this:

Leave. Me. The FUCK. ALONE!

But, no. PM after PM came: 'RU ok, `phfina?' and 'You hurt yourself, you hurt your family and you hurt me, bitch! Think about that!' and 'Well, you know the gun is messier and more permanent that the bourbon, but it's your choice, smart girl, and I love you.' and on and on and on.

And, you know what I realize?

I'm not me, without you. I don't see who I am at all. Not at all. I only see me, who I am, and who I can be, through your eyes.

And, well, you know, I really hate that. I mean, like, look, FINE! FINE! OKAY! So I AM smart and I AM beautiful and I AM loved and I AM lovable!

FINE!

But can't you just give me some room here? It's New Year's, for God's sake! Can't you just leave me alone?

And you're like, no. And, anyway, leave me alone to what? to wallow? That's nice.

So today I went to the mall. Yeah, on a Sunday after the holidays (so, really, still during the holidays), and I got to really be with TONS of people being with people, families, young (cute) girlfriendies, tough guys pushing baby strollers, mommies with daughters, zillions of people in line at sbux (that I don't work at ... HA!)

Just, you know, hang, and be with everybody being with everybody, with the parking garage so full, they needed police to direct traffic.

And so here's my present to you.

No, it's not me (although I am a HOT little thing!) and no, it's not my next chappy (yet).

No, my present to you is you.

Now, I am talking particularly to you who've read my stuff and never PMed me or reviewed me.

I know you are there. I so know it. I see the stats on page views by locations. I know you're reading me and I know where you live, sweetheart, ... and bf, too, for that matter. (Hi, guys reading ffn! You rock!)

And you know what? Me, knowing that? Do you think you're getting away with anything? No. Do you know what you're doing?

You're giving me hope.

Did you know that?

You, silently, being there, for me. Month after month, in productive months and in ... these last few months. You're giving me hope and a reason to go on.

Do you know what a contribution to my life that you are?

Do you know I didn't drink on New Year's because of you? Yes: you. I couldn't stand the thought of saying — again! — 'yup, I screwed up again.' And you can be a drinker or not a drinker or not care either way, but you are reading me, and somehow, I know that you care about me, you care about me enough to read my words, and to come back here, time and again, and check up on me, to see if I'm still alive, and still fighting, and still hoping.

You, thousands of you, all around the world, looking at me, looking for me.

Thank you.

And you think to yourself: 'oh, I have nothing to offer, and look at her other reviewers, so smart and witty and brave, and some have even done this and that for her, or have done that for their own lives, reading her stuff, and I could never do that. What could I have to give `phfina?'

And, well, okay.

Really: it's okay.

You, simply by being there, not even aware what you are doing for me, have helped me go on, month after month.

You are perfect, as you are, even if you are hiding from me, even if you're 'too busy' to leave a review or a comment of a chapter, even if you don't know what to say or how to say it, even if that comment is simply, 'wow!' or 'I really liked this chapter,' or 'Bella is so stupid; I hate her,' or 'I so love your Bella; I just wanna hug you ... HER I MEANT HER! *EEK!*' ... whatever's on your heart, whatever touched you when you read what I wrote ... for you.

You are perfect.

And.

Well, okay, you asked (by reading this).

Just imagine what would happen if you did leave me a comment.

Just imagine.

You don't have to. I have a list of what's happened, with people who've talked with me. And that list is NOWHERE as all-inclusive as I'd like it to be. It should also include the girl who was never, ever going to review my work, screwing up her courage to do so, and what happened?

Well, that applies to several girls, but uniformly, they found their voices, they found themselves, by daring to do the undareable: talk to the `phferocious `phfina, and what did it get for them?

They got their lives.

You have your life already. Imagine what daring to do, or MAKING the time, or finding the words or whatever will do for you, when you know what you've done, and that you've done it.

Like I said, you are already my gift to me. You. You are my gift to me.

And this New Year, my wish is that you see what a gift you are to me, and in so seeing, see what a gift you are to people in your life.

And when you see that, then you will see what a gift you are to you.

You are so, so precious, in somebody's eyes. Know that. You are so, so precious in my eyes, and I love you.

Happy New Year!