Time Travelled — almost 1 year

A letter from July 28th, 2015

Jul 28, 2015 Jul 28, 2016

Peaceful right?

Dear FutureMe, Well, it's been one year since you've written yourself this letter. Hopefully you've let go of the demons continuing to chase you, pining for your soul every single day. You're a strong woman, this you know. You wrote a book (no, you wrote two books), both of which hit the New York Times, and U.S.A. Today bestsellers lists, not to mention the Wall Street Journal. However, what did all of that do to you? It made you more afraid than ever, your expectations to make your next book beat the last two higher than you could possibly reach. Hopefully, today, July 28th, 2016, you're no longer afraid, no longer allowing your demons to eat away at you. Hopefully you're stronger, taking every single day for what it is: a gift. Hopefully the ear-piercing, attention-seeking sound of naysayers is muted, their voices seen for what they truly are: jealous minds, seeking their moment of fame through social media outlets as they hammer away at your God-given talent. Hopefully you've found yourself, for you've been lost amid the wreckage of yourself for longer than you care to remember. It's not that hard, so STOP fighting yourself. Maybe you've stopped writing, once again allowing your depression to sink your spirit. Maybe you finished the sequel, your words making a fantastic comeback onto the scene. Maybe you've already started telling the story of the many lives within in you, all of whom depend on your voice, your creativity, to tell their story, your words setting them free. Either way, my dearest future me, I hope you're happy, truly eating up every second of life for what it's worth. I hope your husband is mentally and physically where he should be because you, the absolute love of his life, is mentally, physically, and spiritually happier with who you are, who you were always meant to be. I hope your children are thriving, their souls springing to life because their mother is alive once again, holding them in her arms, loving them hard, adoring them even harder. No matter what, I hope your finished destroying yourself, your need to numb everything away a thing of the past. If you are, you'll know exactly what I'm referring to. You'll lightly smile, glimpsing only for a moment back on the disgust you've briefly marred yourself with. If you're not, you'll simply read over this email, reflect on it for half a heartbeat, then delete it, somehow finding a way to justify what you're continuing to do to yourself as you delete your own future hopes. Hopefully you're alive, literally. Not dead, your eternal absence the wounds left for your family to war off. Hopefully you're alive, literally. Living life the way it was meant to be lived: clean, free of all chemical and mental waste you're currently dowsing yourself with. Hopefully you have...hope, the woman you once were beaming brighter than the brightest star in the sky, her internal and external powers greater than that of her current, weakest, wasteful fear. Hopefully you're exactly where your creator meant for you to be, not battling against the harsh, brutal winds of your worst enemy... yourself. Hopefully you're being good to yourself, every spare minute of the day spent realizing your self-worth, loving every beautifully flawed inconstancy you were born with, but still not allowing them to pull you under their malicious tide. You're brave, you're strong, and if you have yet to today (July 28th, 2016) released yourself from the prison of your mind, the jail cell of all of your addictions, then you're un-savable, a weak mind at its finest. Love yourself, friend. For at the end of the day, it's you against yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. Just...you.

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