A letter from Dec 27, 2022

Dear Future Dev, (and all others reading along!) Time is such a strange concept. Just yesterday, I wrote you a private letter about losing dad and the other things I (we?) are currently struggling with. Somewhere along time, you're reading this right now, as I'm typing it. You'll definitely forget I sent it, we never even remember our 1-year letters for the last 3. Since you will, I decided to make this one farther in the future than we ever have before. This will reach you just before 2026, and a few days before your birthday. You'll be 32 by then, and you probably will not feel any older than 18 still. I want to write about the big goals I hope we accomplish, but I don't want this letter to be about what we may or may not fail to do. Life is hard enough without that guilt, and our disabilities make it hard to commit to improving our situation when it seems so bleak at times. But come on, we've had a rough 5-6 years, haven't we? Maybe by the time you read this, you'll be able to think about it all without feeling utterly hopeless. Maybe we'll stop dreaming about our old friend, and maybe dad will stop haunting our sleep, too. Maybe we'll even stop going to our childhood home every time we drift off. I hate that place, I hate how dark and soul-sucking it feels, and I especially hate how vivid and real the dreams feel. Sometimes we wake up thinking we are back at that place, and relief floods us when we realize we're not. There's also sadness, too. Because even though our home was never a home, we can't help but miss being a child again. Wanting that comforting, familiar place even if it wasn't actually safe. God, I wish I could draw more but I've lost the drive to do so. We've been on a steady decline ever since 2017, I've hardly picked up the expensive tablet gifted to me and when I do, I don't enjoy drawing. I get so frustrated with how stiff, boring and useless my art seems to me. There's virtually no reason to put effort into anything I create because it feels like no one cares about it, but I wish I cared more that -I- care about it than anyone else, you know? We used to draw all day, every day, from 3rd grade until age 24, and then it just stopped after a bunch of things happened. I've been saying for years I want to find my spark again, but I haven't. I tentatively hope that maybe you have. Or maybe you've given up on chasing that neglected skill of ours. You and I both know we're not actually creative and that we can never draw the fantastical things we wish we could. But it's the only thing we've ever been good at, so maybe we'll keep tending to it, if our self neglect doesn't **** us first. How is the future? I suppose I'll get to find out one day, though it won't really be me, will it? It'll be you, and I'll be left behind in this moment. Right now it's windy and raining outside, I can hear the drops aggressively slapping against the window when the wind picks up. Markiplier is playing on the tv, our scary games playlist, he's on Simulacra right now. Rin (grey tuxedo cat) is sleeping on the shirt in front of me, as usual. I call it her throne for a reason, girl never sleeps anywhere else in my room. Her sister, Kalah (black tuxedo cat) wandered off somewhere else to sleep, probably the bed under the desk in the office. Right now we've been listening to Laibach, Heidevolk, Cruciform Injection and-oh, Kalah just wandered in yelling softly to say hello. I called her sweet baby and waved at her for you. I'm sure they're still around, they're only 2 years old or so, but if they're not I'm sorry. I can't imagine. Then again, I couldn't imagine losing dad and mom either, but here we are. Not even 30 and we've lost a lot in the way of family and friends. Can you believe it's been 14 years since K walked into your life? And then -ALL- of the others over the years? It's been a journey, that's for sure. For the last 5-6 years we haven't gone outside much, except for doctor's appointments and the like. We just kind of locked up inside the house. The therapist says it's toxic shame at our core, but honestly the negative things I think about myself feel like hard truths and facts of reality. I don't want to go outside because I feel like the entire world knows I don't deserve to exist, or that I'm ugly, or that I'm a bad person. I miss nature so much. I miss walking through the forest. I miss swimming more than anything. But I hate my body so much and I just can't. Especially not if there's people there. Like I said, I want to hope that maybe one day we'll come out of this, but it's been a very long time now and I don't think it's going to happen. Still, if you're still alive, I'm proud of you. I know that doesn't mean much, but I am. There's a lot of pain inside of us and only we can take care of it, nothing anyone else could do would save us. We need to save ourselves, and I know we're trying. I'm trying. This got so depressing, I'm sorry. It feels like I'm delegating my positive moments to the future. I've had some positives, playing Sea of Thieves with J and A a lot until we were all pirate legends, enjoying the tall tale (you know which one). Obviously the shared story us and J are writing (I'm sure you'll still be writing it, it's been 6 years since we started it with them, and still going!) is super important. A got us some things off of our etsy wishlist which is nice, I'm excited to see what they are when they show up. I really can't think of anything else, everything kind of blurs together when you live the same day over and over again for years at a time, as we know. But we've had laughs and positive moments. Even if it feels like I'm staring through a tv screen at life, I don't feel connected to it, but it's still there. Maybe in 3 year's time, I'll have figured out how to shake that off enough to just appreciate existing. Tell me about your life, please. I know I won't see it and I never will be able to, but maybe our even later future self will appreciate both perspectives.