A letter from Jun 05, 2025

Dear future me, I just took a short shameful walk to and from the grocery store around the corner to make my first purchase of alcohol in almost two months. I wish I could explain why, the way I usually always seem to be able to explain myself. But if I’m being honest, a lot of the explanations I gave in the past for why I am who I am and do what I do, were pulled right out of my ***. I don’t feel more lost or confused than I did a couple years ago. I just learned to shut up about things I don’t understand. I’m not going to sit here and give you a deep, insightful and - of course - ******** analysis of my own psyche. Because frankly, I don’t know and I never really knew. This is what I do know: I have OCD. Why? I am not sure. I have some form of trauma, probably. Therapists' opinions differ on whether or not I should be diagnosed with PTSD. I have a messy and definitely unhealthy relationship with food, but not anything worth a diagnosis. At least not yet. And I have a couple stray symptoms that don’t fall into any of the aforementioned categories, that me and professionals can only guess the reason for. I bought four 200 ml cans of wine with different additive flavors. This was a strategic choice, since they look like soda to the untrained eye and barely smell like alcohol. One of the rules in this house is “no alcohol allowed”. If someone stumbled in on me with these cans on the desk, they’d probably think it’s just innocent soda. The medication I take technically forbids me from drinking, but the medication I take also doesn’t ******* work, so I don’t really care about that. While at the grocery store, I also bought tomatoes and hummus. Once I got back home, I took my bag of groceries to the kitchen and made sure to move very carefully and slowly so the girl in the living room wouldn’t hear the suspicious liquid sounds coming from my bag. I placed my good-girl groceries in the fridge and made my way downstairs to my basement-room to get started on my bad-girl wines. And this E-mail. So far, I have been very busy this week. Today was special because instead of 3 different appointments, I only had one. An apprenticeship-interview, a short subway ride from City Hall. It didn’t go too well. I am pretty confident I managed to impress them, but they failed to impress me. They told me to give it some thought and call them back in a week or two. But to be honest, I could have told them then and there that I will not be taking this lukewarm opportunity. I spent the rest of the day listening to audio books and podcasts and doing whatever I could get my hands on to keep myself busy while I am listening. Playing video games, walking around, walking back and forth, just sitting there and staring into space. Or eating. A lot of eating. I feel very bloated right now and consequently very shameful. I played with the idea of vomiting some of this heavy feeling out of myself, but I am too afraid my house-mates will hear it. Besides, as I was sitting on the terrasse contemplating this, Jennette McCurdy was narrating her memoir about overcoming bulimia through my headphones. It would’ve just felt wrong to do it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. But I can feel my inflated stomach pressing against the waistband of my pants and I can feel my skin stretching around it. Like I swallowed a big round stone. It’s uncomfortable. But whenever I try to throw up, I always throw up in small portions. It’s exhausting to have to gag myself thousands of times to purge a significant amount. Most of the time, the painfulness of self-induced vomiting is enough for me to stop myself from over-eating, but not today. I knew I wouldn’t do it. My brain, starving for stimulation, knew I wouldn’t do it. So my legs walked up the stairs and my mouth ate and ate and ate and I watched it happen, helplessly. Since I knew, under these circumstances I wouldn’t dare try to purge, I gave myself permission to drink instead. Because if I’m not distracted, the stress and physical exhaustion from having eaten so much will just make me even more hungry. It’s evil. It’s just evil. But it’s gotten to a point where most days, I eat a normal amount. At least normal to me. Partially because I’m too busy to overeat. I am also very close to being below 50 kg. A goal I’ve had ever since I was above 50 kg. I know it’s nothing I should aspire towards. I don’t know why I still do. But I definitely do and I think about it every time I eat or drink anything. Even as I am drinking this wine right now, I am thinking about the calories and I am trying very hard to not look at the list of contents. I don’t think I want to know. Today, after my underwhelming interview, I felt the need to share what had happened. I often have this urge to just tell somebody after anything happens that is important to me. And this interview was important to me. I sent a message to my group chat of friends. No reply. Later I messaged my friend [...] privately, because I found his graffiti-tag on an electricity box. I remember him telling me, it made him really happy to hear I noticed them. I thought I could make him happy with that. But even to that private message, I got no response. I remember telling [...] in a four-eyed conversation, that I am afraid of reaching out to this group of friends, because I’m embarrassed about not having any other people to talk to. These friends I met at the hospital earlier this year are my only semi-accessible friends. There’s [...] of course. I met her during my semester of University, but since she didn’t drop out like I did, she is ridiculously busy. Especially since everybody always seems too busy for me, even my friends from the hospital, it makes me feel like a total loser every time I reach out. His response was to tell me in a confident, certain tone that I am not a loser. And so today, as I was walking out of my interview, wondering if I should bother my friends with this uninteresting life-update, I assured myself “I am not a loser. They think I am cool. They’ll be happy to hear from me.” And then I got ghosted. And so all day I have been carrying around that feeling of abandonment. Wondering what they are all occupied with, that they deem more important than a simple short reply. And wondering why I can’t seem to be as productive as them. I wish I was busy and independent enough to be able to ignore texts from my friends. But whenever someone messages me, I always get so excited that I answer immediately. But no one makes me feel quite as much like a loser as [...]. Even though I know that’s not his intention and it would probably break his empathetic, pure heart of gold if he knew that. But that’s exactly my point. In some ways me and [...] are similar, but he seems to have gone right where I have gone wrong. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to someone almost 6 years my senior. But I have been told I am mature for my age too many times to not hold myself to that standard now. In a way, I know I am idealizing [...]. He is secretive and I want to be somebody he trusts. Maybe because I care about him, maybe because it would stroke my touch-starved ego. I don’t know. But I always feel defeated and jealous whenever I realize that he is hiding something. Especially when it’s something I know that other people know. Especially especially when it’s something I know our mutual friends know, but I don’t. He doesn’t owe me anything. God knows, I keep secrets from him too. It’s very selfish, the way I want him to tell me things. But ****, I want to know everything. Whenever I think of [...], I think of this advice I heard a while ago: If you see a bear, you should walk away slowly and not run away. Because only prey would run away. Only something worth hunting would start the chase. And I suppose in this simile I am the bear and he is the fleeing prey. And I guess in conclusion, following down the path of this comparison, he has every right to run. Truth is, I have conflicting feelings towards [...]. Part of me thinks he is burnt out. Once a careless protester and stoner, turned sober, anxious hospital patient. A dopamine addict, a procrastinator, insecure and a little bit confused all the time. Another part of me thinks he is very cool. Once an unambitious trouble-maker, who mostly only got himself in trouble, turned sensitive, self-aware beacon of empathy. A good friend, an honest man, genuinely working on himself. Someone I could be into if we were closer in age. Although to be fair, sometimes - who am I kidding - most of the time, I am willing to look past that and be into him anyways. But the only reason I am looking past it is because I know, I’ll realistically never actually have to confront this age-gap, because it will never happen. It’s just a crush to help me get through the day. So far, I can still snap myself back out of it, whenever I feel like I’m getting too close to actually liking him. And tap back into that feeling whenever the stress made my heart go cold again. But I know if I end up actually getting attached to [...], it’ll be humiliating for me. It will humble me to shattered pieces. The whole friend group would suffer the consequences. So really, I am playing with fire, everytime I fantasize about it. Even when I try to focus on his “negative” aspects, I still like him. He’s still cool. I still respect him. Because even though he isn’t perfect, his flaws are so understandable or straight up relatable to me, that I can’t really hold them against him. I’m thinking of sending a message in the group chat. Something along the lines of “Hey guys, it’s lowkey making me feel really insecure and lonely that nobody is responding”. But I am afraid that even that message will be ignored. Or even worse, I will get a response along the lines of “We were busy”. Because I wish I had things in my life that were so important and exciting I could ignore my beloved friends for it all day. It would just make me feel equally bad. And on top of that, it would make me feel bad for complaining. Like a loser. Right now I am just waiting for the alcohol to hit a little more so that I can put on some music and dance around my room and let my mind wander like the silly little drunk white girl I am right now, instead of writing this definitely-way-too-sophisticated E-mail to myself. I have gotten bad at being drunk. Where’s the fun? Although, I will say I feel better. I know I shouldn't say that. Alcohol is bad for you. Bla bla bla. I feel better. That’s my truth. And I am thinking about other things now aside from just the size of my stomach and the calories in my wine. I admit, most of these other things have something to do with [...]. Most of what’s left is a very turbulent mixture of self-pity, self-admiration and self-consciousness. And I wonder, if he read this E-mail, would he think I am cool and eloquent? Would he think I am mature and smart and special? Or would he think I am ******* insane? Would he think I am a mentally volatile, manipulative, selfish alcoholic? Would he be flattered if he knew I liked him? Would he maybe even reciprocate that? Should he even reciprocate that? He’s 24. It’s more likely he’d be uncomfortable. He would be disappointed. Either way, I know **** well, he wouldn’t know what to say. But maybe I am wrong about that too. I am probably severely overestimating how well I know him. And severely underestimating his ability to stand up for himself. I should just shut up and say “I don’t know”, like I have been practising. So here we go: I don’t know.