A letter from November 2nd, 2020

Dear FutureMe, I just want you to know where you were 5 years ago. I hope that you're better now. I hope that you're still alive:) As a 16 year old, you were depressed. There's no denying it. Hurting yourself was something you did daily, and it's something you weren't proud of. I hope you've come to a point in your life where you are no longer ashamed of your scars. As a girl in a world full of expectations, you were stressed. You couldn't handle the pressure to be perfect. Panic attacks were daily experiences for you, and they often came at the worst times. They are daily experiences for ME. I am going through all of this right now. I hope you've overcome it. And I sincerely hope this letter doesn't fall into the hands of family or friends rather than myself, the one meant to receive it. That would mean that you are not alive to read it. That I've given in, and chosen the path of ease, the path of unknown. (And, also, I spent time on this letter that could have spent sleeping, and I would love it if you were alive to read it. I'm proud of it; it sounds so eloquent. Like a spoken word poem.)