To The Me I Once Was

Dear Past Version of Me,

Don’t worry, we’re still alive. You didn’t think we were ever going to see this day, and you had almost given up on it so many times, so I guess the most important thing I need to tell you is that it happens. I know that right now it doesn’t seem like it will, but one day you’re going to wake up and fall back in love with being alive again. It takes years of therapy, medication, and some drastic changes to your immediate circle of support, but I am living proof that you are going to feel better someday.

Right now, you’re probably blacked out in bed or writing in that old red journal you kept hidden beneath your dresser, I know, but one day you’re going to be falling asleep at night with a smile on your face and love in your heart. One day your journal entries are going to sound a lot more like this and a lot less like a last goodbye. One day you’re going to look forward to going to school and to the movies and even to just waking up. Life is going to have its color and meaning again, and the emptiness inside you is going to fade.

I’ve spent these past few weeks re-reading all the words you used to write me, and my heart breaks for you. I had almost forgotten how heart-wrenching the loneliness was, and I’m so sorry to tell you that I still haven’t met anyone else like us. We have always seen the world in a different light than those around us, and I’m sorry that I still don’t know anyone else that has our same kaleidoscope eyes. But the ability to look at this dull and colorless world in the way that we do is a beautiful thing, and I need you to know that you are not something to be ashamed of.

I never had anyone there to help me when I was going through this, so I want to tell you what nobody ever told me: You are going to feel different as you feel better. You’re not going to wake up one day feeling completely whole again. There’s not one thing in life that’s going to save you. It might start with having the energy to take a walk one night instead of just going straight to bed. It might be a burst of creative energy that breaks the fog and allows you to start writing again. It might be the urge to reconnect with an old friend you distanced yourself from when it first started getting bad. I’m not sure. But don’t fight it. It’s okay to start taking care of yourself again, and it’s okay to love who you are while you’re becoming who you want to be.

I’m so sorry I didn’t write to you sooner. I might have been able to save you from a lot of pain if I had promised you this peace earlier, but I didn’t know things were going to get so much better. I am living the life you have been dreaming of­—the one you never thought you’d see. And it’s so worth it, I promise you. Just close your eyes and hold on; all of this debris will pass soon enough. Don’t convince yourself that what you’re feeling now is all there is in life because there’s still so much left that you have yet to see.  There’s so much love and happiness and warmth and beauty waiting for you in your future, and you deserve to see it all.

 

All my love,

Day 6113

 

 

Audrey Sing is a deeply curious seeker on a quest for meaning. She lives for long conversations early in the morning, handwritten letters, and making people smile. She hopes for a humble existence and to one day find a small piece of the world for herself.

Germ Magazine guest author
… is a contributing guest author for Germ, which means the following criteria (and then some) have been met: possessor of a fresh, original voice; creator of fresh, original content; genius storyteller; superlative speller; fantastic dancer; expert joke teller; handy with a toolbox; brilliant at parties; loves us as much as we love them.

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