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Dear FutureMe, this letter is addressing our past self for a letter she sent me and that I gotat a time I needed. I know you'd want me to reply to her, so let's immortalise this here, shall we? — 19/4/2025, 01:17 a.m.
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From 30/10/2022:Dear FutureMe, Writing to you from the depths of despair… I’ve never been more sick in my life. Writing this in itself is a struggle. Body aches are at a 100, anxiety is haywire, I feel my body’s basic functionalities utterly and wholly failing. I’ve been thinking a lot these past two days (yeah, thanks anxiety), and it put some painful stuff into perspective. Please take better care of your body. Please don’t push yourself more despite what you hear from social media gurus and grind culture, unfortunately that kind of lifestyle does not suit you. Please practice more mindfulness and meditation. Please don’t forget to take a step back and breathe when it becomes too much. And most of all please promise me that the minute you can afford it, you’ll go to therapy. Things have snowballed. Everything is really, really messed up. It’s so starkly clear from rock bottom how wrong many things are. You need to treat your anxiety before it ruins your life. For my closing thoughts, I want to leave you kindness. Please be kind to yourself. Please look after yourself. I know the world seems more scary than inviting lately, but I want you to remember you’re not alone, and you do not have to experience it alone. Take care. Love, Rama.________
From 19/04/2025:Dear Past Me,Your letter found me at the perfect time. Not in the way we romanticize fate—well, maybe a little—but in a strange twist of the universe I’m still learning to trust. Your voice—the voice of someone spiraling, aching, and desperate for clarity—echoed into a day where I was standing at a similar edge, not just for myself, but for someone I love.
You asked me to be kind. You begged me to take care of this fragile body, this anxious mind, this soul that often feels older than it should. And here’s the truth: I’ve tried. I’ve faltered. I’ve fallen more than I care to admit. But I’ve also grown. I’ve learned the art of gentleness—mostly by learning how brutal I can be to myself when I forget it.
It got really bad for you sweetheart, didn’t it? Your challenges aren’t over, but you are better equipped to handle them.
I know everything felt impossible, but the universe conspired to get you help, and you are better. We are better.
And guess what? Therapy, the thing you swore to pursue if ever given the chance, is something we held onto with both hands. The help that seemed so far out of reach? We got it. Meds and therapy and a healthier mind, despite my current physical ailments.
I’m not suffering as much as you used to. Look forward to that my love.
I met my partner—someone you’ll meet in a year or so. And right now, today, I’m guiding her toward healing and therapy with the kind of compassion I think you were searching for all along. You saw how pain repeats itself in loops. Maybe that’s why you wrote this letter: to break the cycle. To speak across time.
I don’t know what the universe is. I don’t know if time is linear, or if we’re just travelers cycling through ourselves. But I know this: you didn’t write in vain. Your voice mattered. It still does.
I love you for surviving what you thought you never would.
Thank you for holding on,Rama (The Future You)
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From 30/10/2022:Dear FutureMe, Writing to you from the depths of despair… I’ve never been more sick in my life. Writing this in itself is a struggle. Body aches are at a 100, anxiety is haywire, I feel my body’s basic functionalities utterly and wholly failing. I’ve been thinking a lot these past two days (yeah, thanks anxiety), and it put some painful stuff into perspective. Please take better care of your body. Please don’t push yourself more despite what you hear from social media gurus and grind culture, unfortunately that kind of lifestyle does not suit you. Please practice more mindfulness and meditation. Please don’t forget to take a step back and breathe when it becomes too much. And most of all please promise me that the minute you can afford it, you’ll go to therapy. Things have snowballed. Everything is really, really messed up. It’s so starkly clear from rock bottom how wrong many things are. You need to treat your anxiety before it ruins your life. For my closing thoughts, I want to leave you kindness. Please be kind to yourself. Please look after yourself. I know the world seems more scary than inviting lately, but I want you to remember you’re not alone, and you do not have to experience it alone. Take care. Love, Rama.________
From 19/04/2025:Dear Past Me,Your letter found me at the perfect time. Not in the way we romanticize fate—well, maybe a little—but in a strange twist of the universe I’m still learning to trust. Your voice—the voice of someone spiraling, aching, and desperate for clarity—echoed into a day where I was standing at a similar edge, not just for myself, but for someone I love.
You asked me to be kind. You begged me to take care of this fragile body, this anxious mind, this soul that often feels older than it should. And here’s the truth: I’ve tried. I’ve faltered. I’ve fallen more than I care to admit. But I’ve also grown. I’ve learned the art of gentleness—mostly by learning how brutal I can be to myself when I forget it.
It got really bad for you sweetheart, didn’t it? Your challenges aren’t over, but you are better equipped to handle them.
I know everything felt impossible, but the universe conspired to get you help, and you are better. We are better.
And guess what? Therapy, the thing you swore to pursue if ever given the chance, is something we held onto with both hands. The help that seemed so far out of reach? We got it. Meds and therapy and a healthier mind, despite my current physical ailments.
I’m not suffering as much as you used to. Look forward to that my love.
I met my partner—someone you’ll meet in a year or so. And right now, today, I’m guiding her toward healing and therapy with the kind of compassion I think you were searching for all along. You saw how pain repeats itself in loops. Maybe that’s why you wrote this letter: to break the cycle. To speak across time.
I don’t know what the universe is. I don’t know if time is linear, or if we’re just travelers cycling through ourselves. But I know this: you didn’t write in vain. Your voice mattered. It still does.
I love you for surviving what you thought you never would.
Thank you for holding on,Rama (The Future You)
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