A letter from Jun 13th, 2021

Dear FutureMe, I am afraid that this assignment is due at 11:59 and I wont get to complete it. Completing the task not because I want to be credited, but because I want to use this letter as a pain reliever to my own emotions. This is not intended to be anything suicidal related, but something I've been carrying for years, back in 2019 until present time. It has been a journey of different phases, a lost youth of mine, no purpose, no reason or whatsoever to understand myself or why I am here. I miss myself, abandoned myself and my own needs in order to don't be abandoned by somebody else. I pondered midnight decisions last winter, that I would eventually emerge from deep to overflow a happy me, the old me, back home to who I remember being. It was all a lie in April, when I woke up to reality! Nothing ever goes as planned in this world. The longer I lived, the more I realized that in this reality merely pain, suffering and futility exist. It's either the sad truth of living in a world some else had imagined, or our human existence in a parallel world. I have an illusion of lucids dreams that I for sure am aware are nothing but faded dreams that will never come to be. But let me anchor myself to hope and dare life for one more round because rather than surviving I want to live. Everything was the reflection of the shadow of memory of the imagination of my idea. Well, maybe it's more knowledge. Perhaps my own ignorance since the very beginning to deny the lie of how life-full I was. My soul just knew self regulation should mean pretending my void didn't exist or using another anxiety binding mechanism in order to avoid the source pain. I tended to think depression prohibited me to enjoy, to laugh, but the truth was the opposite. I could actually enjoy the feeling of ice cream melting on my hands on a hot summer, going out for dinner with my friends and just distracting myself but yet still empty. I could enjoy and not avoid the void that was burning me. Because I wished time would move slower when everything feels better. My parents thought my all seasonal depression was fake because I could laugh. They forgot that a laugh was not a smile. Since then, it all began to become a joke to me. Everyone failed to understand me and no one listened to my cries. The only way to make them hear me was to talk about my existence/sadness as if it was a joke. If I jump out of this window do you think I would fly? Besides there is mental health and then there is mental illness. There is a difference; people love talking about yoga and self-cae days, but get uncomfortable talking about blackouts, suicidal thoughts, manic episodes ect- and that's the issue. My Me now understands that I wont be happy all the time but that I also won't be sad all the time. My springtime youth expects that whatever I'm doing in 5 years from now, I'll just be truly happy and successful. I'll be traveling the world and opening myself to new experiences, living the life I have never had.