January 27th, 2025.
Dear younger me,
If you’re reading this, I hope you’re doing well. I want to talk to you about some things that should’ve been told to you a long, long, long time ago. So, buckle up, grab your box of Kleenex tissues, and hang on to whatever you have near because this is going to be a non-stop ride through television levels of drama, and we only have one page. We’ll be done faster than you can say “Merry Chrysler,” so don’t even bother writing a response pertaining as to why I’m wrong; we’ve ignored this long enough.
I want to begin by making one thing clear: It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. We have been carrying that since we were 4 years old, and it’s time we gave ourselves the grace to let go of things we can’t control. Yes, we’ve raged, we’ve cried, we’ll probably punch something and nearly break our hand again but none of it is on us. No matter how much we feel like it or how some people would like to make us think. If there’s anything to take away from this let it be that. It was never your fault; it was theirs. You are enough, I am enough. We’ve always been enough.
Eighteen years of age, it must feel like you’re on top of the world, huh? But... I’m guessing you’ve realized that nothing really changes. That’s something you’re going to run into a lot. The truth is that feeling you have of still being four years old inside? The one where the world feels all big and scary? It’s not going away. In a way, we’re always going to be them. This is the point in life where all the years of not socializing are going to catch up with you. You’ll be forced into the wrong university and career. You’ll make the wrong friends; you’ll fall in love with the wrong people. You’ll even give all your firsts to them, and they’ll leave you in pieces. That’s the focus of this: sex is great, drinking and partying is great. However, they’re not going to be worth the headaches you’re going to cause yourself. If there’s one thing I wish I could make you understand, it’s just that. You’re better off with fewer friends, friends who give a fuck about you, rather than a lot who see you as a bank account and a taxi. I wish you knew that those few friends who cared about you and got pushed away were the ones who told you what you needed and not what you wanted. They’re waiting for you when you wise up, so don’t be scared to ask for help when the time comes. I know you won’t listen yet, you’re not ready. But when you see this in a few years, I want you to know one thing. I love you, just as you are, just as I am; there has never been anything wrong with us. There has never been anything unnatural about us. Whether it’s our family, former friends, or people we thought we knew. They are wrong. Our existence is our own, and we owe it only to ourselves to live it authentically and unapologetically. And I know it seems like the world is ending, but I promise you it’s not. It’ll be okay, because those who finally love us as we are? You’ll find they’re only a breath away.
With tough love,
Kieran Andromeda
