Sometimes, I feel like ripping apart my skin and searching for a reason for why I feel this empty.
Maybe my veins are tangled, or something is lodged in my ribcage. Because it feels like something inside of me is missing or broken.
DEAR 25 YEAR OLD ME,
I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of myself before you came along.
If you are still fat, I forgive you. If you are still lonely, it is okay. If you are still living with your parents and sleeping in the same room you fell in love in, that is alright.
I am sorry if my younger self set you up for failure. I am sorry if you still haven’t learned to speak the way you write. I am sorry if you still think about him, after all this time.
Some days are going to be hell, even if it’s freezing outside and you haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I am sorry about this.
I forgive you for doing lonely things, for kissing strangers who taste like burning buildings, for talking to yourself, for spending New Years hoping the world ends before you turn 26. I forgive you if you aren’t always strong, if you’re still so scared of going to the doctor that you get panic attacks and your mom wonders what happened that made you this scared of your body.
If you spend the summer writing screenplays that you don’t show anyone, I forgive you. If you sleep through a job interview because you’re too scared, I forgive you. If you decide you don’t want kids, ever, I forgive you. Some of us still have child hearts that we haven’t learned to nurture properly, and that is okay.
I am sorry for running away from him when I wanted him most. I am sorry if you see him and he has forgotten you. I am sorry that I never told him, or any of them, that I was a sun buried underneath lightyears of silence, and that they didn’t deserve to have to wait for my light to reach them.
I hope you are kind to yourself. I hope that, when you are sad, you are patient with your pain.
I hope you know that there is still a way for you, that, despite everything, your body wants you to keep going,
even—especially when, you feel like everything inside of you is dying.
Mondays are fine. Its your life that sucks.
Wait, what? Gator fans or fashion statement? #gogators
Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.
When I saw the first pic on my dash, I thought it was fake. BUT THIS IS NOT A DRILL.