Dear Me

Dear Me,

I think about you a lot. I think about how you never thought of yourself. You were quieter then, back in elementary school. In fact, you were so quiet that I don't even remember much of what you ever said. It was always things being said to you that stuck with you, like you lived just to listen and hear and agree. Your connections felt one-sided because of your inability to be comfortable enough to respond to people, even your friends, and I remember how sad you felt about yourself to have to feel that way. But you never tried to drastically change anything about yourself to fix that.

I wish you would have. I wish you would have been a little louder, a little bolder, a little less afraid. But you did what you could with who you were and what you knew, and I know that. Thank you for trying your best.

You thought of me, your future self, one specific time that I can recall. You thought of me when one of your friend's bullies made a joke about her and met your eye and smiled, looking for your amusement and approval, and you smiled back.

You hated that you did. You didn't think the joke was funny. You resented yourself for smiling, for being on the wrong side in that moment and knowing it. You thought of me and of how much you knew I would be ashamed of that smile. Thank you for being honest with yourself in that moment. Thank you for your shame; it was a sign of integrity. It was a sign you wanted to be a better, stronger person.

I remember the fear you had that that same friend hated you. You were both twelve or thirteen or so, hanging out at your house. She took your iPod from you and typed in the letter "L" and stopped, and you and her both stared at the mortifying result that popped up on your screen. You were young and dumb, and stupidly ignorant about the importance of clearing your search history. You were discovering your attraction to women in a Catholic school environment. I remember the humiliation you felt, and how your heart sank in your chest.

You never talked about it with her, but shortly after, you told her that you were bisexual. A part of you believed she would accept you without a doubt. She was so kind and compassionate to you, and you were best friends. Instead, she was shocked and visibly repulsed, though she tried to hide it, and you felt that horrible sinking feeling you got so rarely when you were actually honest and true and yourself enough to experience the foulness of disappointing someone you loved. But you stood up for yourself, and I’m proud of you for that. Thank you for being strong in that moment.

The awesome thing is, after your friend moved away to Jersey, she reached back out a year ago and you guys reconnected. To your surprise, she apologized for how she reacted back then. It turns out she was figuring herself out in the same way; she's aromantic/asexual herself, which makes a ton of sense. You would have really loved to hear that from her, and I loved hearing it for you. We wholeheartedly accepted her apology. Maybe we'll offer our own apology to her, about how we should have stood up for her more back then. I think she'd like to hear that from us.

Around this same time, your grandma passed away at 68. She had a rare kidney disease, but you and everyone else thought she was doing better. She was sent home from the nursing home and died days later. This was the hardest thing you ever had to face, and I'm so sorry you had to deal with that.

We still really miss her, and it's still really hard to talk about her without getting emotional. As you get older, your memories of her start to fade, as your memories always tend to do so easily, and you're going to feel a powerful sense of guilt about it; you don't have to. You don't have to remember every detail of her to know that you loved her, and you miss her so much. Thank you for your love, and thank you for your tears; they have made us stronger.

Your issues with your body started here, and I'm sorry you felt insecure in your own skin. Your physicality has nothing to do with your value. You were never skinny, but that never made you less worthy as a person. I remember the boy who used to grope you during class, and as scared and confused and uncomfortable as you felt with it, you were too afraid to tell him to stop. And a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be the only time someone would touch you, or be attracted to you, so maybe you should just try to be okay with it. Even if you weren't attracted to him, even if you didn't feel comfortable with it, even though you didn't ask for it, even though he didn't ask—you thought maybe it was you who was the problem. But you snapped out of it, and I was proud of you when you told him to stop, because speaking up was always so hard for you. Thank you for doing that.

I remember how grave the sense of dread you felt about everything was, and I'm still figuring things out as to why we felt that way, and why we still do. Anxiety was a big driving force in your life, even if you didn't know that's what it was back then. It ruled over you so much, so fiercely, and I'm sorry that you had to feel the way you did. I'm sorry you never felt comfortable enough to be yourself. I am trying harder now, for me and for you, to achieve that for us.

Thank you, truly. ♥️