A letter from Jul 18, 2024

Dear FutureMe, I love you; although I suspect that I am fundamentally unlovable. Today is a Thursday. Nobody in my life truly knows me, nor could the ever, even if they dedicated their entire lives to studying me- like I am a rare insect. I have found closure in the fact that I will never have a long term relationship. Romance is not in the cards for me. It would be a pleasant surprise, though, if things began to change. But the truth is, I don't fully understand myself either. My perspective of myself has always evolved rapidly in comparison to how others perceive themselves. I am always changing, destroying, leaving, and lying about who I really am. So many memories I have convinced myself were or weren't true. I don't exactly know how much of my life has been lived for myself nor how much of it should be ashamed of. I worry I have always done things wrong. I am not a woman. I am not a man- I don't have the balls for it. I am not *** or straight. I am not alive or dead- here nor there. I have been everywhere and nowhere. I live to construct a narrative which I can relay to others securely. I don't trust anyone- nobody at all- not even my best friends or my closest relatives. People will lie when they tell you that you are safe with them, but betrayal is always imminent. I seek companionship in those who have more than me so I become likeminded in how they attract their social or practical affluence. But I do not let them see me. I tell all my secrets to those in poor mentality. They could not possibly ruin me, nor do they even judge me. They are much more humble. But the affluent are healthier and happier; they don't destroy themselves like I or the ones who know me do. That's all I really want. I want to be normal and rational instead of paranoid and a fool. That's what I want for you, too because I love you; and I love you because you are better than me. Maybe you will be human one day.