hey me!

A letter to my future self.

Hey me,

How are you? I think it's a question we don't get asked enough, and certainly not by the people who we want to care. I care. About you. Even though sometimes I want to end this life for us, I still care enough to ask my future self how they are doing. Are you okay? Another question that no one asks. No one asked me if I was okay today---well, I was okay today for some weird reason that I'm still trying to figure it out, but that's not the point---and no one asked me yesterday, or the day before. I was not okay then. I was dying inside. I'm still dying inside, just a little less. So if no one has asked you how you've been or if you're doing okay, in a while, here it is. Here I am. 

Is anything new with love? Are you pining over some girl that you're friends with, trying desperately not to ruin the friendship you have. I'd always imagine I'd fall in love with my roommate who'd I get a flat with in London. Are we in London? Are we out of this god-forsaken country yet? I want to get out of here as soon as I can. I want to be free. I want to be held by that girl I've liked by months, and I want her to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, I want to know that she doesn't hate me and she cares. Even a little bit, and that'd get me through this. Just to know that I'm not just the person who's been obsessed with her since October, or the person who's been trying to get her attention every morning, or the person who writes poetry about her because I think I might love her now. I hope that love works out for you someday. That you're not dragging yourself out of the pits of hell trying to avoid a relationship, a person, who was traumatizing. I hope you don't still talk to that girl. The one who blew my world open and destroyed it over and over. The one who stole my heart without asking and cut into it until there was a whole missing so I could be like her. Empty. Dead inside. Broken beyond repair. 

What's going through your head right now? I'm wishing that it's only good thoughts, and when times get hard, you drown out the bad ones. The ones telling you to start collecting a box of sharp objects again, just for it to be taken away, and to waste money on more because it's an addiction. I hope there aren't any other addictions. Like alcohol or drugs, or I don't know, even coffee, even though I hate coffee. I hope you don't have white scars under your sleeves, or under the waistline of your pants. And if you do, I hope that you're not ashamed of the scars I gave you when I was breaking down, when I wanted to die, when I used it as a coping mechanism as I do now. 

Tomorrow I'll be four months clean. I know it doesn't seem like that long, but last night I realized ever since we started, I haven't gone six months. I haven't made it to the sixth month mark. God, part of me hopes that I make it there (it'll be April) but the other half of me doesn't even care if I grab a knife, or a razor, or a random object in my mess of a room, and do it. Part of me wants to every single second of every single day. Those are the bad thoughts I hope you don't have. I hope that we are in a spot where we can reflect on the first time I told someone I wanted to die in fifth grade; to the reason I never used to talk to my parents, and all the nightmares I had about sitting on that beige couch; to the first time I had my heart broken in gym class by that girl I wrote a whole album about; to my first girlfriend who broke up with me just four days after we started dating; to when I didn't cry when I learned my grandmother cried, and how I used to not accept that she even did; to the night when I asked the question for the first time "am I a lesbian" and immediately started laughing and crying and trying to convince myself I couldn't ever be that; to the day my dad almost died and all I could care about was the girl who has broken my heart; to the first time I ever felt the relief of the pain, the control of the emotions, the not want to do anything more; to the time when my parents found out about all of it and it felt like reliving that day on that couch; to the time when I cried through my whole graduating dance because that girl who had broken my heart broke it again; to the time when I relapsed in the summer because I didn't know who I was; to the time when I realized I was finally over that girl and I had better friends; to the time when I liked my best friend and they still don't know that's why I became their friend; to the time when I relapsed at Thanksgiving and my brother saw them but he didn't ask about it; to the time when I realized I was head over heels for the friend that became my worst nightmare and abused me until I just gave in; to the time when I asked that same friend out and she kissed me without consent; to the time when I tried to convince myself that I was happy, and I believed it, and then I couldn't stop the pain for three months; to the day when I realized I was exactly like my mother, and couldn't stop eating too; to that day when I realized that my girlfriend was abusive and toxic and I still stayed; to the day I broke up with her and she tried to kill herself; and to the time when I realized I didn't care anymore if she did; and to the time I wrote this because I want to continue to write just to survive.

That was a rant, and I won't pretend like I don't know it was. But the point is, I hope you can look back at all the hard times and just laugh at how stupid you were, and how much you've grown, and are better. I hope you are better for the both of us. I need you to be. I need us to be okay. I need us to be alive.  

Sincerely,

You.

Author's Note

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