A letter from May 26th, 2020

Dear future me, I hope the you're doing better now. I hope that you've figured out what you want in life and I hope you're striving for it. I'm sad right now, but I hope that this email has caught you off guard while you were having a good time. I hope you're not wasting away like I'm so scared to. I hope you're doing something productive and something that your future you can be proud of. I hope your proud of me too. If not, totally understandable. I know I've never really done a lot but I'm looking to change that. I'm sort of lost right now-- think I have been for a while. I'm starting to find a path I want to follow but I'm not sure if that path is just for me yet. I also want to remind you that life isn't a competition. It's okay to have big dreams, but know that staying somewhere comfortable or choosing somewhere that isn't inherently 'elite' doesn't mean you're settling for less than you can do. Hell, you don't even need to go to college. You don't need the highest paying job, you don't need the biggest house, and you don't need the most impressive degree. We're all running for the biggest and the best, right up until we die. I don't want to live like that. I want to find a college that maybe isn't Stanford, but it's teaching me what I need. I want to get a job that brings me happiness and satisfaction even if I'm not finding new cures to diseases. Finding happiness doesn't mean you're failing. It depends on what makes you happy that guides your life. Also, another more slightly depressing Blast From the Past TM is this -- "I’m never enough. I’m never too much of anything and if i’m not anything then i can’t be seen. i’m invisible at this point. i’m not skinny enough to have an eating disorder. i don’t have enough scars, or sadness or tiredness, or hurt to be depressed. i’m not scared enough of every single thing i do and people’s reactions to me to have anxiety. i’m not jumpy enough to warrant the fact that i don’t like hugs or people touching my shoulders or pats on the back. im not impressionable enough to remember lots about but i’m likable enough to look back and think “she was nice”. but then i struggle. and then i continue to struggle. but only mildly. i’m not struggling enough for help, but enough for it to hurt. it hasn’t gotten so bad i can’t get out of bed, but it leaves me aching anyway. i’m never enough either way. i’m not healthy enough. i’m not sickly enough. i’m not living but i’m not dying either. i’m stuck. i’m in between. caught in a crossfire of “happy” and “healthy” or “depressed” and “struggling”. i know it hurts but when will it hurt enough? when can i say with confidence “i have depression” and then get help. you can’t treat something you don’t have. what if i’m making this up? what if i’m just sensitive? what if i’m doing it for attention? who knows anymore. i certainly don’t. i have a meeting with the therapist soon and the biggest thing i’m scared about is her saying “no this is all in your head. you’re fine.” i don’t feel fine. i’ve never been hard set “suicidal” but i’ve also never been terrified of dying. it’s grey area. EVERYTHING IS GREY AREA. i’m never here nor there. never healthy but never sick either. i’m not dying but i sure as hell feel like it. i’m not good but i’m not bad. i’m neutral— i’m grey." I guess I'm just hoping we're not grey anymore. In the end that's really all I'm wishing for you. I wish that you get to a happy place with happy people and someone that loves you. I hope that you don't fall back into grey, and if you're already there: it'll get better soon.