A letter from Jan 30, 2024

Dear You (Me), To be able to speak to myself rather than sending an email would be a gift. I'd like to hear my voice. I told myself that I'd put thought into this letter, but as I type, the words leave my mind. I came across a post on social media that asked the question, "If you could, would you rather spend a day with your younger self or your older self." To be frank, I have no answer. I can't choose. Do I consult the version of me that I've grown from or the one I'm meant to become? Do I attempt to learn lessons from my past or seek to find value in the continuation of my life? I could argue, why should I speak with a person from the past, from a life already lived? I would answer, "Because I miss who I was. I was the person I desired to be. As I grew, I lost sight of my goals and my passion. I wanted. I never received. In my mind, the goal was to be a greater man than anyone who had ever walked the earth. To have more heart, more soul, more power, endure more pain, have more success. I wanted to be great. In the past, I was that. In my own eyes, I was that. I didn't need to get anything. I was surrounded by everything I needed. I was happy. I want to remember what that felt like." That's how I would answer. It's not about speaking to my past self. It's about remembering who I was. The joy I felt from waking up in the morning. The feeling of hearing the news or smelling breakfast cooking as I opened my eyes. The bliss that comes with ignorance and innocence is unmatched. The happiness you feel from 'not knowing' is more than I could even fathom now. Sorrow overwhelms my mind and I can only hope that one day, I can once again feel that joy, that bliss, that peace again. But then, what about my future? Do I ask questions? What do I do in the face of the man I'm destined to become? Do I even want to know who I'm destined to be? No. But I suppose, if I had no other option, I'd ask, "Why did you keep living?" In the current moment I exist, I know why I'm alive. Not my purpose in living, but simply, the reason I'm not dead by my own hands, yet. I want to know why, in the long run, in the course of my life, I chose to thug it out. Or if I even had to. Or if I even did. Perhaps I will never see this letter, perhaps I'll see it at my lowest, perhaps at my highest. Who's to say? I believe that knowing my destiny will be of no value to me now. No matter the outcome. If I succeed in the future would it motivate me now? I feel that it wouldn't. If I become a failure, would it ruin my motivation? Why would it? To know who I'm destined to be is to come to understand that anything I do from this point on is futile. Destiny can't change. If I speak with a millionaire, I have no choice but to become a millionaire. I can gamble away my life, commit ******, attempt suicide. It's futile. I become a millionaire. I can't get away from that future. I want to be proud of myself. I'm not right now. I want to do something great for me. Something the world looks at as normal, seeing no significance. Something that, to me, holds more significance than the history of the world itself. I want to say, "I've done it." I want to live out my purpose. I want to have a purpose. I can only hope that by the time this reaches me in 5 or 10 years, I'll have that purpose. I don't want recognition or fame. I want to be worth living for. For myself. If the person reading this letter isn't Nishawn, I'm sorry. Maybe it got too hard to live with, the pain. The emptiness. Or maybe I was gone before I wanted to go. Life cut short by some other force. But know, that in this moment in my life, January 30, 2024, I am so happy to be a Nevels and to be related to a Grant. The greatest mother and father I could ask for. I have the most amazing sisters, Simone and Ky'ree. My brothers, Timothy and Omari. These 6 are the most important people in my life. Ride or die. Give my life. Give everything. Withhold nothing. I love you all. If it is me, you. I don't love you. I actually might hate you. Out of every pain I've felt in my life, the hardest one to deal with was being alive. And for that, I hate myself, and probably always will. I'm not proud of you. Not proud of you now, nor the person you have become. I can only pray you have finally developed a desire to be better. A desire to grow and become the best version of you. But even still that wouldn't be enough. I don't wish bad on myself. I wish you the best. Because at this point, that's the only thing that can save me. That or *****. I can only pray it's the former. I can only pray that in the next few years, I can come to understand why I'm here. I hope I find out soon. I feel like my time is short. I hope I'm great. With love, hate, dissatisfaction, regret, and remorse, Me (You)