A letter from yourself on February 28th, 2014

Dear FutureMe, Happy eighteenth birthday! You're an adult. Congratulations. I'm a little over fifteen years old as I write this. I'm still in my freshman year, and still awkward and pimply and unsure of myself. You're probably feeling kind of unsure of yourself as you read this, too. That's okay. We'll be fine. Here are a few things I'm hoping you've done: a) Gotten help. If you haven't, and you're still doing bad stuff to yourself, you should probably do that. But if you have, mad props to you! Good job! You're brave and awesome and all that good stuff! b) Done more stuff. I don't do much stuff now. I should. I hope you're doing more stuff than I am now. c) Gotten some experience with guys. I don't care if you haven't, actually. It's just something that would be fun. d) Done something you're really, really proud of. I don't care what it is. I just want to do something that has meaning to me. So, how has life changed? Tell me everything. A lot must change in three years. My ideal vision of you is that you'll be prettier and skinnier and smarter than I am right now, but I honestly don't know. I'm assuming you're still at Ellis. I'm hoping you still write. I'd love to hear how you've improved. What are you doing right now? Right now I'm just killing time, not doing anything useful. How are you doing today? Me, I'm doing weirdly. I was feeling like absolute shit earlier today, and then I felt unnaturally happy for a little while, and now I'm not sure how I feel. Here's how my day went down: I woke up, fell back asleep, woke up again a few minutes too late, got ready really quickly, came a bit too close to missing the bus, and got to school. I had physics, then a study hall, then snack, then gym (I forgot gym shoes, but Tillie lent me some), then math (I don't have a clue what I'm doing in math right now), then English (I turned in my Beowulf project, and everyone really liked it). Then there was lunch, and Tillie and I studied for the history quiz on the Romans. I don't think I did well on it. Then I came home, took a few pictures, and watched the brand-new music video for Nicotine by Panic! for the first time (!!!). It was good. I can't see why everyone hates it. Abby still isn't responding to many of my texts about the Panic! concert. Did I end up going, or did it not work out? I hope you're happier than I am now, for your own sake. I also wish you were here now, so you could just nudge me in the right direction, because honestly, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I feel like I'm setting myself up for failure. Sometimes I try to think of you and what you'd tell me to do differently if you were the age I am now, and I think I have an idea of what you'd say, but it's really hard to do. I'm still staying up till two in the morning trying to put off homework for one more hour, and I wish to God I could pull myself together and work hard and be motivated and actually be someone who might amount to something. Oh, and do you actually have depression, or am I just hormonal and overreacting? What would you tell me to do differently, if you could? How badly do I fuck up later on? Or, rather, have I already fucked up without knowing it? I'm sorry for everything I do fuck up. I swear I didn't mean it. Now, I know I'm not the best source for advice, given that I'm younger than you, but you know what? Here's some anyway: Do something you're really afraid of doing today. I dare you. Look at yourself in the mirror and rock that shit. You're gorgeous. Eat something fattening. You fucking deserve it. You've lived through eighteen years. Live it up a bit. Go on a peaceful walk in the snow and forget about everything for a few minutes. Walk through the alley, maybe? Up to the church? Maybe take some quiet, brooding music with you and lose yourself in it while you walk. Benjamin Francis Leftwich would be good. Fall in love. Buy a pack of cigarettes and hide them in your drawer. Never smoke them. You've probably lost touch with Abby. Call her up. She's already in college, remember. Remind her that you used to pretend that chopsticks were wands and argue endlessly over whose imaginary friends were better. Call Campbell, too. Tell her you still have her adventure book (here's hoping you do). Send Max an e-mail and teasingly mention how he was the center of your world in eighth grade. Hell, try to find Destiny and Kylie and all those people you used to hate. Hug your parents. Hug Bandit, if he's still alive. If not, whisper a little prayer up to the dog-angels. Hug yourself. You're going to be okay. I swear. Here's a big, loving hug from fifteen-year-old you. Feel that? I love you. You're great. We're one, you and I. We're a couple of different people, but we're still technically the same person. Remember that. Keep being gorgeous and smart and talented and whatever else I'm sure you're going to be. Here are a few songs that I demand you listen to as soon as humanly possible, as a reminder of the past: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkBxcmxWKAA http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4Y9EAZi_2o http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdiY6kijYHE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZBG3MUgDbY http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHjKQcjL0sk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsV8TrF4gN0 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhUUsYGpB2U http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zouSojyIi94 PS: I'm sending identical copies of this to banditnosey@gmail.com and savagee@theellisschool.org, just in case. The other one isn't any different.