A letter from Jul 30, 2024

Writing to my future self has become such an unfathomable habit lately. If it were for me, I would wish to write my silly little letters to myself every year and get to see my life through them as I get older and older. Today, not only am I half present in everything that I do, but I also can't seem to have an escape out. I think, deep down, I've always had hopes and dreams that even though I've been feeling like **** for years on-end, there would be a day where I would be reading all of my letters from my dreamlife space, during the most peaceful and quiet time of my life. Now, I don't have the certainty that I will survive the year. I just don't know how I will. Time makes for so many false promises we make to ourselves and others. The universe strikes once again with another rock in my way, yet this time it's the size of a grand canyon, and I am tired of trying and hoping. And if life is continuously going to be like this, I think I'd rather give up. I love you, and if you've made it yet another year I just wish you would tell me how.