A letter from May 25, 2025

Dear FutureMe, I hope you’re doing well, I’m not. I’m in bed thinking about that one thing that one boy said to me. The thing I’ve been insecure about and cannot fix. I hope you’ve fixed it by now, because I am so so tired of the panic attacks. I hate going outside and seeing my reflection. I hate talking to other people and wondering if they’re observing me the way he did. And eventually, when he left, all that was left was a person I hated -me.