For You, Someday
I promise you I am going to make it.
For you. For me.
I promise.
I know you are going to be hurting, maybe you’re hurting already. I know that the day you and I meet might be the worst day of your life, that my first glance of your eyes might find them clouded with pain and confusion and all of that thick, heavy, hopelessness that is easily, in my life so far, the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced.
I know you probably aren’t going to believe that you have a future, that this minute will pass to the next, that you are worth saving, worth loving, worth caring for.
But you do, it will, and you are.
Because I will overcome, and then I will come to you. I will come to you and take your hand in mine and break through all of that survival fog that is drowning out the beautiful, brilliant person you are. And I will tell you other people feel this too and there is hope, there is always hope.
I am going to win this battle, and then I am going to cheer as you win yours.
I promise.
Dear Stranger who Committed Suicide,
Warning: Triggering. I put this under read more in case reading a letter like this might trigger you. Read at your own risk please, take care of yourself =]
Dear Universe,
You’ve got this right?
You’ve got a plan?
I sure hope so, because I’m feeling a little lost in terms of the whole oh-I-know-exactly-where-my-life-is-going-and-what-I’m-doing kind of thing.
Just so you know though, whatever you helped happen this August kind of threw me for a loop. I mean seriously, couldn’t you have given me a tinsy bit of a warning? Maybe threw in some kind of manual shortly after to explain?
I get it though, that’s not how this life thing works. The instruction manual only exists after we create it, right? Or something like that. I’m not quite sure how it all works (and I hope I never do) but I guess if I’ve gotten anything out of your tricks and turns its that a) I’m not in charge in the big picture and b) there might be someone, or something else that is.
So here I am, humbling writing to you, because writing is what I do. And I’m hoping and praying and crossing my fingers, because I’ve officially done all I can do. I’ve tried my best and searched and applied and been accepted and sent letters and said goodbye.
All I can do now is hope that this is right. That I am going in the right direction.
I know that mistakes can be good, that going one way and ending up in a totally different place often ends up exactly where you need to be. But see, I’ve made peace with that part of my past, I’m okay with what happened now. I’m okay with where I am and where I’m going.
I just don’t want it to be my future.
I’m strong, my legs might shake the entire time, but I’d be able to do it. If life changed paths again and I was in the wrong place, I could pick myself up again and fix it. But please, dear Universe or Allah or Great One, please don’t let that happen. I’m hoping your plan is more along the lines of you-are-where-you-are-supposed-to-be-lets-move-on-to-the-next-challenge.
That’s really what I’d like. To be moving forward, instead of backward. To want to live.
I want to to want to live.
The other thing, and perhaps the most important of all… please don’t let me lose myself again, okay? I can handle anything, I believe that, but I need to BE here to do that. I need to be me.
I’m taking a deep breath here, and a gigantic leap.
I’ll do all that I can, and I’m trusting you’ll do your part too.
Leap and The Universe will catch you.
Thank you for (literally) everything,
Caroline
Dear 11-Year-Old Me,
This morning you got dressed in striped leggings, a skirt and a polka dot shirt. You styled your hair yourself; in a way you’d never seen anyone do before. It was perhaps a little different, but you know what few others do… different is good. Different is right.
You, at this very moment in time, are the epitome of light. A feisty combination of smile and spunk and bright blue eyes. You are you, exactly as you should be.
The thing is though; things are about to change.
The next few years are going to knock the wind out of you more times than I’ll tell you now. I want you to know this, to be prepared, and above all to know that you will win this fight you’re about to embark on. You might lose a little along the way, but you will win.
Remember that. You will win.
So when the popular girls pour ketchup all over your brand-new-allowance-bought jeans, I want you to remember this letter. I want you to look them in the eye and walk away with your head held high.
You’ll learn to carry an extra set of clothes, just in case.
When the tall gangly boy with the blue green eyes never comes to pick you up for the date, dance all night by yourself. Forget what everyone else says, the rumors that are spread. Don’t look his way when he comes in two hours later reeking of pot and swaying on the spot.
You’re worth more than he’ll ever be.
Each time someone “forgets” to invite you to a party, learn how to make your own. Spend those nights singing karaoke in the shower and dancing in your pajamas and writing down all the beautiful words spinning around your head.
You have a gift, no matter what the others say.
When the girls at lunch laugh at you and mock your eating habits, do not change what you know is true. They are going to tell you (again and again) that you are fat, that its disgusting to let a boy see you eat, and I need you to promise you’ll keep giving them the same answer you did this year, I see boys eat all the time so why on earth shouldn’t I?
You are right. Don’t forget it.
And junior year… well that one you’re going to have to get through on your own. I know you won’t believe me until much later, but every single thing you experience that year will transform you into someone that will amaze you. You will hurt more than you thought possible. Hang in there. You will survive and be better than ever before, I promise.
Remember you are loved.
Don’t stop talking, refuse to be silent. Talk to your parents, your siblings, your pets… you’d be surprised at how good they are at listening.
And please, beautiful little one, hear me when I say that one day you will remember how extraordinary you’ve always been. And once again, you will look in the mirror with different hair and a mismatched outfit and say I am beautiful, this is me.
See you on the flip side,
Age 20
