A letter from May 31st, 2021

Dear FutureMe, Hello, let's try this again. I wrote a letter to myself that you will find unhelpful and will probably make you spiral into utter oblivion, reflect on the past, question your life choices, and think of everything that has lead you up to the now in about, hmmm four years. So here's a letter for the next year and I'll be a lot nicer and (hopefully) less self-destructive and love obsessed. I believe you'll be turning 27, I should know this but my math is ****. Yes 27! Practically 25, but basically 30. I just wanted to pop in and say that sometimes I struggle and have hard days. Sometimes I am scared of what the world is coming to and by that I just mean my world because let's face it we are self-absorbed just like the rest of the world. But this is the first year I have decided to actually work on myself, yes I am still afraid of people, love, pain, vomiting...etc, but I am working on it. I am finally writing something because I want to, not because I feel like I should and I am trying to get comfortable with the idea of failing and whatever that looks like. So whatever you're going through right now, gone through, failed at, or are working on, just know, today I got a little poop juice on my fingers (I wish I was ******* making that up) and got through it. It was gross, yes, and I hope that doesn't continue... Here's to us!