A letter from Feb 18, 2025

Dear Future Me, sorry I'm late writing this. Not actually with sending it on time, because - well - I'll send it into the future. And apart from idk, the world falling apart, and the specific server with my mail on it getting blown up, there's not much that could delay this letter once it's in the ether. And that's where I'll send it today. So, how am I doing? I'm okay. Life is good. There are my marathons coming up in 4 and 6 weeks (wels/linz), and I think I trained "well", I guess? I don't particularly feel like I have made significant progress, but I like where it's going, especially because I haven't quit yet. That I owe in significant part to my friends. They carry me through and get me going, so I don't even realise the effort I'm putting in, thanks to them. I think my goal should be to become more independent, though. Think for myself, act for myself, stand up for myself. When an inconvenience arises, I tend to just curl up and shy away from the world. And sometimes, that isn't necessarily a bad thing. When I calm down, I see things in a different light, and I can reassess the whole thing and lead myself to a different outcome than the one a sudden emotional outburst would have brought. I guess as many times as one thing is bad, it can be good. Maybe there's no real reason to worry about it, and all we can do is come to terms with the life we've been dealt. I have been thinking about this topic a lot lately. How much of us, of me, is predetermined? How much control do I have over my thoughts - over the way I think - or over the distinctive way I react to new situations? Is my opinion of myself set in stone, or can I carve it like water shapes its surroundings? Well, I like pondering these questions, and I'm fine with not reaching an answer. (I think) I guess telling you about me would be a great way to help understand the me I am when I'm reading this in a year. I would love to be able to read my thoughts from when I was ten. I try to remember what it was I thought of the world. I have this indistinctive feeling sometimes when I try to imagine the boy I was trying to make sense of the "man" I've become. I remember the anxiety attacks keeping me from falling asleep, terrified of what might or might not come after *****. I remember thinking about it linearly. Great black dumb stupid nothingness - my life - great black heavy stupid dumb nothingness forever and ever all over again. At times, this imagery would become so heavy I thought I would just crush under the weight. I still get these anxiety attacks. I try to dodge them always. I catch myself trying to run away from this feeling because I know I can't bear it. The worst part about it is how alone I feel whenever this fear creeps up. Like no personal connection to anyone in my life - past, present or future - could ever counteract this hole that sucks up anything meaningful. Like no amount of love and warmth could stand in the face of this icy cold darkness. It's stupid. I feel stupid now writing about it. But it's like the laws of nature stop working properly for me whenever I get this way. And I fear that one time, it might never stop. I don't know what this does to me during the day. I feel like everyone is carrying this weight, and I have to do it too, silently. I'm even more worried about what this did to me when I was a child. I feel like it was disturbingly heavier and more frequent then. Even back then, I felt like I couldn't share this with anyone. I didn't know how I could talk about it. What I would say. I remember a time when I couldn't take it anymore, and I ran downstairs to my parents' room. I burst in crying, and I think I asked them how they did it. How they keep on living their everyday lives knowing one day it will just fade away into nothingness and lose any significance it may have once had. That's not what I said. I couldn't have, considering that I was like 10, sobbing, trying to outrun a feeling that had seemingly gripped my very being with its thorns. Also, I don't think I had this tight bond with my parents that would allow me to be understood without the need for words. Maybe that's what I crave the most - now and then. A connection that transcends our understanding of language. Like, just renders it obsolete. Or maybe it's just the thought of being understood. I don't think I came out with this anymore after that experience and me feeling left more alone than before. I don't think I tried writing about it. I don't talk about it all that much. Whenever I bring it up with close friends, it feels more like we're talking about what we did last weekend, and it has that casual nature to it. I'm never really bothered by that when it's happening, but now that I think about it, it makes me feel like I can't put it into words properly so that someone might understand. I don't know how to feel about this. Also, reading this text that kind of spiraled into existential crisis mode, I feel like I'm not doing a good job putting it into words. I mean, considering their gravity, it kind of makes sense to me that I can't seem to do it justice. This might be my first serious attempt to put it out there. Only after it escalated like that did I decide to publish this anonymously. It was supposed to be my birthday message for when I turn 27. I mean, it's still that, but it's also something else. Maybe someone can help me make a little more sense out of it. Maybe I can when I'm 27. I'm looking forward to hearing from you. And from me. love, N