Five years ago, I wrote this email to myself to be sent on my milestone birthday:
“Hey you,
You suck! I really hope that’s not actually the truth.
Are you okay? Did things turn out for the better or are you still in that constant cycle of self hatred and pity? What about that whole concept of love? Did you ever get anywhere with that? I hope you accomplished at least one thing you can feel proud of. I hope you stopped being scared. I hope you became independent and decisive. I hope you felt true happiness again, even if it was for a fraction of a moment. And I hope you cut back a little on being so overly dramatic.
Well, carry on. Or don’t, I’m not in control of you.”
I actually forgot that I had written this and the email was not really a pleasant surprise, just a surprise.
I only semi-suck five years later. I am not okay? I am still in a cycle of self hatred and pity, heavy on the pity. The whole concept of love (romantic) is dead to me and I would rather live my life alone because I can do anything that I want. I only feel half proud of the low level degrees I have achieved and now attend a university where I feel completely out of place. I have regained only a fraction of the confidence that I have lost. On paper I am very much legally an adult but am in no way independent. Decisiveness? I would say I am brutal in decision making. Happiness? A pipe dream. Scared? All the time. And I will never stop being overly dramatic.
Let’s just say the last five years have been filled with: the avoidance of any type of relationships out of disgust, yet fantasizing about having friends and dating; taking Buzzfeed quizzes at 2:00 AM because I have to know what food choices determine my Hogwarts house and zodiac sign; the consumption of a lot of cheese, which I am in denial about having anything to do with my very attractive adult acne; unintentionally tricking college kids into thinking that I am the same age; torturing myself with at least seven year old memories; answering “How are you?”s with firm and slightly pathetic “Alright.”s, and no follow-ups; feeling constantly stunted as an adult and worried about age related accomplishments; overcompensating for my lack of confidence by letting uncouth truths spew from my mouth; being an overweight fuss pot; and sweating, so much goddamn sweating.
The only thing I am thankful for are my prolonging depression sleeps that grant me the most wonderous dreams. Spellbinding dreams that make me yearn when awake and neglect my wellbeing while asleep.