A letter from August 23rd, 2020

if you're reading this you're alive, and i want you to know that right now i wholeheartedly believe you arent. you're looking at me and you're cringing, you're looking at me and regretting, you're looking at me, disgusted and hating me and Hating how i look and dress and act and sound and eat and sleep and breath and. i am too. i want you to know that if you're alive, if you made it to top surgery, if you got even close to any of the dreams i have, it was because i went through 365 days, 52 weeks, 24 hours each, 4 seasons, over and over and over and over and over. i went through it, deciding each second that i was going to continue, despite EVERYTHING. for you to be able to exist. i currently don't think it's worth it. tomorrow, that might change, and the next day again. you're alive against the odds. you're alive. you're real. I'm here, writing this in this very moment, proving that the Last Thursday theory is wrong and you're there. years away. hating me. regretting me. disgusted by me. and I'm here, hating me, regretting me, disgusted by me. we're the same. you are still me. and you may not remeber what I'm wearing right now, what time it is, what day it is. what month it is. what song im listening to, who my friends are right now. what its like here in riverside, what it's like in the middle of the pandemic and a fascist government takeover. you may not remeber. i dont want to either. but i do, i am here, in it, living it, hating it, wanting to leave. and you're there. you're there. and I'm here. and we're the same person. i hope you're happy there. i hope you're alive.