A letter from August 3rd, 2020

Hey. I have high expectations for you. Don't disappoint. I can't wait to be you. Now is hard. I want to be past now, so I finally know what I am and what I'll be like. The pandemic is locking me into routines that maybe aren't the best, especially mentally. I'm questioning. My ideals, my beliefs, my actions, myself. How can I do more to help the Black Lives Matter movement? Am I inadequate because I'm not doing enough? My interests don't lie in activism, it's not my passion; does that make me privileged and able to choose not to "take part" in politics? My labels have shifted over time, but I've maintained a constant identity of wlw asexual. Now I wonder if I could be on the aromantic spectrum, and if I might be non-binary or some variant of a genderqueer identity. Will you have figured it out? I'm scared of going back into a depression because of triggers I've forced myself so hard to avoid but that I can't fully escape. You'll be far away from them, future me. I envy you. I'm stuck in the same circles of people over and over again. Some of them I love and can't bear to leave, others I couldn't get away from fast enough. How long until I can go somewhere far away, start over, meet new people? Take me somewhere far away, future me. The other side of the world. I feel like my independence strains against the confines of my life. I am only ever as independent as my little bubble is. My parents may give me independence but they can't go beyond legal limits, societal limits, safety limits. I'm torn between the mindset of a child with the freedom of an adult. How can I change my appearance when it's so tightly attached to my self-image? Will I still be me with a purple mo-hawk? I wish I could design myself like a costume, visualize it on some software, decide who I want to be. Be you, future me. Try it. Your hair will grow back, the color will fade. You'll be old enough to have gotten tattoos. Show me your nose ring. It's cute. How's the scar on your hand? Did it fade or does it still look badass? What about all those tiny flecks of skin dapple your legs a different color from all your tiny cuts and scratches? Are they still there or are you a new person? They say your entire body replaces itself every seven years. You'll still be me, a little bit at least. I hope you keep the best of me. Let all the bad parts recycle themselves. I wish I could meet you, future me, but our paths will never cross. The best I can hope for is that you fondly remember me as your precursor, who made mistakes so you did not have to, and who trekked on so you could experience the bright future. I love you. I miss you. Good luck.