From Stay Here with Me and
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"You're going to find a confidence you didn't know you could."
Dear 15-year-old Erin,
Things are about to get so awesome for you. I know things are pretty tough right now, and you're dealing with depression, and feeling like you don't really fit in completely, anywhere. I know you feel like the odd man out, and like maybe the people around you don't understand you. You don't feel like you'll ever find friends that accept everything about you. You feel a bit constrained by your town, and the people in it, and you think that's how the whole world is. You feel like things are dark, and maybe they'll stay that way.
I'm so very, very happy to tell you that that's not the truth. You're just a short while away from moving away from that town, and away from the small-mindedness and bigotry in it. You know how you think support of LGBT issues must consist of grudging acceptance, because that's all you're really seeing? That's not at all what the larger world holds. You're about to find a place full of people as passionate as you are about LGBT rights. Remember how you went to a Gay Straight Alliance meeting, and there were just 3 or 4 people, and you thought, “Well, that's okay. At least there are a few people who believe in this.”? There are *hundreds* of people who believe in it – just in your new school.
And you know how it feels like you can't be a nerd and a gay rights activist? How you feel like you're the only one? You are going to meet so many more. You're going to meet people who spend their life making sure LGBT voices are heard in comics. You're going to meet people who started a publishing company just for publishing the comics of LGBT writers, and publishing LGBT stories. You're going to meet other nerds who feel as passionately as you do about LGBT issues, and want to talk to you about it for hours. You are going to fit in.
And you are going to stand out! You are going to finally realize that you honestly don't care if people look at you strangely. You're going to find a confidence you didn't know you could. You're going to *love* yourself, and you're going to find people who love you, too. People who love you for everything you are, and who don't only like the happy parts, or the calm parts, or the parts that aren't making waves. You are going to find people who love your nerdiness, and your happiness, and your excitement, and your sad days, and your talking, and your quiet times. There are people out there, right now, who are just waiting for you to be confident enough in yourself to say, “I won't change for anyone. This is who I am!” And they will find joy in your joy, and will help you through your depression.
And speaking of depression – that will get better, too. I'm not saying every day will be a picnic, but while you can't necessarily see the end, right now, and it feels like maybe you'll feel this way the rest of your life – have hope, because the next time it won't feel so dark. The next time you'll know it will eventually pass, and the next time you will find the tools, and the friends, to help you battle back. And the words! You will one day find the words to speak up, and to reach out for help. And help will be there, reaching back.
There are going to be some hard times, and things will look bleak for a while. But through it all, you are going to be there for you, and soon, you will discover that that's enough. You are going to find such strength, and such confidence, and such sense of self. You don't realize it quite yet, but you are amazing, and you are awesome, and you can move mountains, and you can change minds. You are going to make people think before they say things like “that's so gay,” and you're going to do it with love. You're going to speak up when you see something you don't agree with – both academically and morally – and you will be heard. Not always, and not by everyone, but when it counts. And you won't dwell on the failures, and you will find strength in the successes, and you will always, always keep moving forward.
So although I know you aren't capable of feeling it – or feeling much of anything, just now – know that there is hope. There is hope, and there is joy, and there is success, and there is passion, and there is life. And in every sense of the word, you will live it.
I know things have been difficult beyond words. You constantly feel like you don’t have a reason to get out of bed because you don’t think you’re good enough. You’ve been hospitalized 3 times just so you can have a break from the emotional and physical abuse at home. You’ve been misdiagnosed as bipolar because he made you lie about the abuse. You’ve been heavily medicated with meds that aren’t right for you. You’ve dealt with shitty boys and mean girls who target you because you don’t know how to stand up for yourself. You feel caged and misunderstood. Just know that it gets better.
When you graduate high school, you will spend time learning your limits and experimenting with sex, alcohol, and drugs. It will take time for you to stop doing things in excess, but you will learn and gain a strong sense of respect for the person that you are. You will meet a family who knows what it’s like to struggle. They will change your life because they will embrace you and understand you and support you. They will give you a place to go when you don’t want to be at home. You will get into a really shitty relationship, but you will get out of it, and your friends will still be there for you after it’s over.
You will be a waitress and a bartender and a social worker. You will follow your dreams of moving to California and you will have the experience of a lifetime. You will be free of judgement outside of the small town bubble that made you feel so trapped. You will learn that you don’t have to abide by the strict Irish Catholic rules that you grew up with. You will create your own destiny and fall madly in love with your best friend. He will love you back in the most genuine way imaginable.
There will still be days when you are haunted by the past, but they will pass. You will make everything come full circle and find deep satisfaction in doing so. You will finally see yourself without distortion or self-hatred. You will learn to love the strong, brave, resilient girl you are. You will see that you are not damaged goods, but a survivor with so much to offer this world. So dry your eyes and stay hopeful, because your life is going to be amazing.
A Letter to My Fourteen Year Old Self, Fourteen Years Later.
There will be a lot of hurt, sadness, and heartache. Some people are going to give up on you. Do not listen to them. You are not hopeless. You are full of miracles and stardust and your heart is so, so good. Somehow, you make it. Fourteen years from now, you will have defied the odds, lived when you should have died a thousand times over. The people who gave up on you? They’re going to apologize; they’ll find you and tell you how brave you’ve been, how they’ve learned lessons about strength by watching you grow. And all of those dreams you have? The simple things that you rarely share. College. A family. A safe home. Guess what? You get them, and you get them all on your own. It isn’t always easy, there will be times when that aching alone will swallow you up and you’ll feel yourself being pulled back out to sea, but you always find your way back. Right now, your two beautiful children are napping in their beds, your sweet dog is snoring at your feet, and you are wrapped in a comforter, sipping tea, you met a girl, and sometimes she looks at you like you are the brightest star on the darkest night, you are a year away from graduating college with a degree in social work. You’re going to help so many people. You’re going to make it . Don’t ever stop fighting, you are so brave.
24 hours is all that seperates us. 24 hours and an infinity of pain that comes in the night.
Know this: in four hours time, all the noise from today is going to come together and call up the past. And when that happens, your whole body is going to burn for the shortest of seconds, and then it's gone. You're gone.
Your soul got too full. Too much matter in too small a space, every iota of your pain fighting for its own share of tears. And like a star, burning too fast for the universe to keep up, suddenly you're gone. Hollow. Draining away through the black hole in your mind.
It'll occur to you how easy it would be, to let that gaping, sucking, mouth, drink you down, every drop of you, to the last ruby tear cried by your wrist.
But know this:
The quicksilver in the veins of your soul will not be poured away quite so easily. That gaping black hole of a mouth in your stomach? It's not resident, just passing through. A tear in the skin of the universe, hurtling around through space and time like a bad version of the Tardis. Right now, it's heading for you. But it'll pass by, and as you watch it shoot away from you, you might notice how it's silver trail smells like wet earth after the passing of a storm. And in 24 hours, you'll be alive. Alive, and not quite whole - but you'll have plenty of time to work on that.
So breathe. Breathe, and sing, and remind yourself that if that great big ugly black hole is filled with music, it might just turn out OK. You will be OK.
We are hard men, all of us. Whether or not we even mean to be. When this hardness breaks (and it will and that is okay), it breaks in a way that scares, that makes uncomfortable. I remember where I was when I broke. I was 25. I was packing up my apartment to move home, but not really home, a failure. I was the first to finish college and was trying the real world and never told my family about the abuse I had been suffering for nearly 3 years and the depression and suicidal thoughts. I still haven’t.
I texted friends. Lots of texts, a few calls, and the friends became fewer and fewer and I failed to understand why. But I didn’t fail to get more angry at myself and self-abusive and disconnected until I was a ghost in my own bedroom and then, worse still, nothing at all. Slowly, and it so often feels slow, I came back to me, jingling keys and ready to stand up. I wrote poems. I wrote stories. I erased both and kept both. Everything I did was in pieces and I knew it would be this way for a long, long time.
Eventually, over an empty document trying to turn itself into a new poetry submission, I realized where it all went wrong. I wasn’t a rock anymore. I was crumbling, and everything I loved got out of the way of the fall save for a few brave enough to help me understand this wasn’t my fault. I don’t blame these people for running – I turned to dust right before them. To them, I died, and I know they don’t believe in spirits. Not in the same way I do.
And so it was that, days after Thanksgiving, I struggled. I wanted my family back. I wanted my friends back. I wanted me back. But then a timely message came into my inbox and I realized that I am rebuilding. When you rebuild, you may not be the same, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. Be better. And whatever implications my skin may have about my hardness is just that: implication. Conjecture. Assumption. We don’t owe anyone hardness; if anything, we owe them us. As we are. Honest. Brave. Alive. I’m thankful for the “alive”. It means we can give it another shot. I’m always thankful for another shot.
I know you're hurting, but don't try and push it all away. One day you'll realize that overwhelming feelings come in good shades too. Fuck them. Fuck all those people who don't return your texts. Yes, it's okay to miss them; I still do. Look outside that door, there are people out there who love more than you could ever possibly know. They see you, you don't think they do, but it stings their hearts to see you like that; they just don't know what to do. Ask for help. I know it's hard; I know you don't want to be a burden. But you want to be there for so many people that you've run yourself into apathy, let others be there for you this time. Every person counts, keep that in mind. Every smile is one more reason to stay alive. I know that you hate your body. I know that sometimes you don't see yourself in the mirror. Keep working on that. One day on the internet, you'll stumble upon information that will make everything make sense. You take it from there. Be open to everything, to whomever you become, to love, to joy, to new experiences. Read poems, they will resonate in your soul. Write poems, no matter how bad you think they are; they will help set you free. Who you are now is not who you will always be. You will learn how to be yourself again, and then so many other great versions of that. I know it's hard to talk about. In fact, you won't for years. But healing is a never ending process. You are going to meet some amazing people and do some great things. I know you probably don't believe me, but it gets better. You will feel the sun on your skin again; you will kiss your wrists without apology. Don't get me wrong, it's hard. You're not always going to feel as strong as you need to be, but you are. It’s okay, it really is. Every thought you've had has also crossed someone else's mind. You are not alone. One day you'll find those people, in books, in beautiful lines of poetry, in songs, they are your heroes, and they are your friends. You are so much more than your darkness. You bring light with you everywhere you go, but I know that right now the emptiness is so loud that your vision is blurred. That clears up, but you're still hard of hearing and need glasses. (Did I mention that your sense of humor eventually returns? You won't realize how much you've missed it till it does.) You are not girl nor boy, not weak nor worthless, you are undefinable. You are capable of so much more than what you think you are. You'll learn how to laugh again; smiles will no longer cause an aching in your cheeks. There is so much love in your future and you will still get hurt, but you'll know what to do. I am so proud of you. You’re not letting anyone down, not even yourself; you hear that? You’re not going to be okay, you are going to be so much more than that.
A letter to Carolyn, age 7. You just wrote in your diary "I love Tyler" because that's what the girls in your class do. They say Tyler is the cutest boy in school.
Note to Self a Year Ago or Upon Waking up in the ER Post-Overdose, You Will Need Some New Wishes
There are years that ask questions
and years that answer.
—Zora Neale Hurston
It is possible to be addicted to wanting to die: this is your
diagnosis, more or less—not an alcoholic like half your family, not a
heroin addict or gambler like your uncles, but a death-wish addict.
Remember this: after you crushed and swallowed the bottle of Lamictal,
after the vomiting started, after you tried to stand and failed, you
screamed like a banshee against the numbness overtaking you. You
screamed for help, for life. There will always be a part of you that
wants to survive that is smarter than the part of you that doesn’t.
It’s okay to feel like a wreck today. To curse and bless the
world—your body—that has kept you. To argue with hospital staff
members who insist you stay in the psych ward. Say you can’t miss
work. Say you don’t have the money or time. Say you didn’t mean it,
that it was impulsive, a mistake. It’s okay to clutch the small
stuffed dog your best friend has brought harder than you’ve clutched
anything since childhood. Say your body feels like a thousand
hangovers. Say you can’t eat anything but the canned fruit and water.
Refuse to get out of bed for group therapy. Out of some weird magic of
the universe, you will have plenty of days to do the work you so
desperately need to do, to learn new answers to voice inside you that
says you are unworthy of life.
I have a story for you that you won’t believe: a year from now, the
sky will start to not wake up in time for your alarm clock and you
still won’t quite know if you want to be a professor or not and you
will be a little short for cash and you will break a kind man’s heart
and feel a little like a villain and you will live alone and there
will be a magnificent sweetness to the way you say yes to simple
things, a dinner date at Saigon Kitchen, pumpkin carving with friends
you haven’t even met yet, meetings with students about comma rules or
Virginia Woolf, a new neighbor who laughs with his whole body, a woman
you can’t stop kissing, eating nine kinds of pie. There
will be a morning drinking coffee on a lover’s porch where you’ll
think, This is happiness. There will be a night arguing kindly with
friends until 4 am about language politics over gin-and-tonics and
fried rice and you’ll think, This is happiness. And there will be
anxiety attacks before teaching. A man who follows you home from a bar
and frightens you out of your body for weeks. An ex-roommate who hurts
you in ways you didn’t know you could be hurt. There will be weeks
when you eat nothing but delivery, buy new underwear instead of doing
laundry, sleep in your day clothes, shower so many times a day that
your skin starts to peel. And there will be days (many) that you think
of killing yourself and don’t. What I am trying to say is that getting
over this suicide won’t be easy, but some days it might be beautiful.
What I am trying to say is that no matter how impossible recovery
seems, there’s a life that still wants you in it. What I’m trying to
say is stay here with me.
Do not let anyone make you feel like you don’t deserve to be where you are.
Dear 18-year-old self,
You are getting ready to attend a top-tier university, and popular opinion has led you to believe it will be the best time of your life.
In accordance with collegiate tradition, let me start by giving you the SparkNotes version. I enrolled in the school of art. I did not join a sorority. I did not gain the freshman fifteen. I liked all of my roommates except for one. I spent a semester abroad in Holland. I tried majoring in Graphic Design—I was kicked out of the program. I took a fifth year and switched to Photography. I fell in love. I made an installation in protest of corporate power for my senior thesis. I graduated with the Class of 2014.
Now for the part you really need to know. Unfortunately, I have to show you rock bottom before you can appreciate the happy ending.
I had no doubt that I was stupid. How else could someone try so hard and accomplish so little? I spent the vast majority of my time studying and still could not keep up with my homework. Many of my professors showed resentment at what they perceived to be indifference. I internalized much of what they said to me.
You don’t belong here.
You’re fucking up.
Your contributions are irrelevant.
You are incapable of learning.
It would be in your best interest to drop out.
Eventually I realized that something was wrong, but I couldn’t articulate what it was. My thoughts became increasingly contorted. Starting around sophomore year, there were times when I lost control over my body. I couldn’t breathe. Everything went out of focus. I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding or my hands from shaking. I became overwhelmed with the thought that I was an embarrassment to everyone who knew me. My whole existence felt like a cruel joke. Later on I learned these were panic attacks, but at the time I thought for sure I was going insane. I was too afraid to tell anyone.
During my fifth year, I finally sought professional help from a neuropsychologist by the name of Dr. Russell. He confirmed what my family doctor had already guessed at—that I have Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder—and recommended further evaluation. Thus began a series of appointments where I underwent extensive testing designed to assess my mental state and capacity. The tests produced approximately 50 pages of analysis. These are the things that stood out:
(1) In addition to ADHD, I also have a panic disorder and chronic depression.
(2) My processing speed is in the fourteenth percentile, which is practically unheard of at the school I attended. I read at approximately half the rate of most people my age.
(3) I’m exceptionally intelligent.
After going over the results, Dr. Russell said, “Despite your academic struggles, it is my professional opinion that you have the ability to be a remarkable candidate in any field you choose.”
You have a different way of learning. It does not mean you are stupid or less capable than others. It just means you need a little help. Do not let anyone make you feel like you don’t deserve to be where you are.
So take a deep breath. Hang in there. You are going to conquer this.
Dear younger me.
I want to tell you to take a deep breath. I know you feel like the world is crashing down on you each time you step outside your safe zone. I know you don’t trust people, least of all yourself not to hurt you. I know that you find it hard to fit in your own body, and I know you find it hard to eat, and to love, and to breathe. I know you feel like a freak because you are the only girl in the neighborhood who’s not bringing home boyfriends. I know that is why you decided to get a boyfriend. And I know that you will feel even worse by then because you don’t know why you can’t love him.
And one day soon you are going to take a giant leap towards the end of this life. You are going to feel scared, and lost, and you will feel like you just don’t know how to xist anymore. You will act upon it, but your body will not let your mind win.
Thankfully.
Because - let me tell you - you will get better. You are going to stand up to your eating disorder, and your depression, and your fear, and you are going to be the champion. You will come out of the closet, and the only person who is going to treat you differently is yourself. You are going to be kinder to yourself. You are going to grow, and become stronger. You are going to meet a lot of girls, and some of them you are going to love. And one day you will look into the eyes of the most beautiful woman on earth, and she will look back into your eyes and her gaze will make you realize that you could - maybe - also let yourself be loved. Yes, you are going to remember what it felt like being weak with starvation and self loathing, but you will
only feel a minimal urge to relapse and that is okay because you can beat that. You are strong now. And on this day, when she looks into your eyes, you will be full. You will be invincible. You will be unstoppable. You will be whole. You will not only kiss her, but you will let her kiss you. You will let her take a swim in your ocean, and smile as you realize that she’s not drowning in your shadows.
So take a deep breath. Hang in there. You are going to conquer this.
Love
- T
I am writing to you –or maybe still to me- about what you’re going to go through very, very soon. I know you’ve already met the girl; she sucks the very breath out of your body so fast you feel light headed, but instead of fainting you feel as though you could fly, and on the days the feathers of your flight turn into rocks eroded by too many years in the sea with too many waves, in her arms you will feel safely anchored in solid warmth instead of the elusive waves you cannot reach your way out of. You will come out for this girl. You will come out every day for the rest of your life –because that’s what femmes do- for this girl.
In five years, you still have never seen a Lifetime Movie on an abusive lesbian relationship- we should start a petition to Orange is the New Black. But in five years, you will be happy standing in the aisle with the ketchup in Publix smiling and free, because you are finally doing something for yourself, by yourself. After all these years you stayed, believing she was the only person that could love you, leaving will finally let you love yourself. Coming out as a lesbian will always be an integral part of who we are, but nothing is more important to your identity than loving you.
I Love You,
Angela, Eighteen Years Old.
P.S. I don’t have all the answers for us. I’ve gone a week without talking to her; I still cry most nights. But you can do this. Whatever you do, just do it loving us. I love us too.
You won’t hear that enough. You are taking on the pain of other’s wounds in this world, piercing straight into your gut, swallowing your own heart. You’ll learn to not let it tear you apart. It will though, at first.
You carry so much guilt, no one can see. Lie awake for hours thinking about the toy you didn’t pick out at age four – even 24 years later you’ll still feel that guilt, but you learn to let it go.
People see you as weak and fragile. Delicate young soul. Breakable. Only you’re resilient and you will not have a slight idea until you know. Then you KNOW the STRENGTH, there will be absolutely no denying it. It’ll be worth it.
Reclaimed life, you will grow into your own. Cling to your “road signs” along the way, expressing gratitude as you continue to notice. However, you won’t notice you’re thanking the universe with each and every step you decide to take and continue to make.
You think too much. I know, so much you need to do for everyone but not ever you.
Feel selfish when you ask for help. Feel like you’re too smart, or a failure, insecure and confident, either – or; many will stream their thoughts of doubt about your decisions, directions, visions, goals but you’ll learn to filter thoughts out.
Fight flight freeze – response to danger does include a freeze mode. This will help you learn and discover more internal wisdom of the “why’s” behind each action.
Instant melting will become your freedom, you were waiting for the shattering knowing your loyalty and your dedication, knowing it was all wrong. Refusing to give up on one you thought you loved. This is not a weakness, you can love. That is a beautiful quality, and you will continue to love.
But you love yourself first and more, without conditions. The question appears about regrets if you did not wake up the next morning, it jolts you into reality, into your space – realizing being an Artist was worth something more than you were told. There was no other choice, you dove, without any security or predictable outcome. You made the decision.
Art. Intuition, turned the catalyst to action. Throw all doubts of self to the side, filtered out the unsupportive minds.
You know now you are not alone, started walking downtown, still alive.
The Artist starts creating her life. Heart racing, beats skipping, throat closing, can’t breathe diagnosed, labeled PTSD, Bipolar – Anxiety
Faking attention seeking symptomatic little girl – it’s all their perception. You learn your own truth.
Still hurts. Those labels marking you since age 18 – you will let them go. You went from not wanting to survive, to barely survival mode, to a frozen state of denial disappearing into a non-transparent ghost.
Now you COMMAND and demand your attention on stage. Finally finding your voice and knowing you can have your power. You HAVE your power.
Artist was never a choice. You are.
Listen to you. Your heart, your gut, your intuition, when you think you are on the right path, without hesitation, no questions. Let go of doubt and dancing to the beat of standard steps. You twitch, you startle easy, you are eccentric eclectic chaos – but trust YOU.
Don’t contort into a mold they perfect for you. You’ve gotten this far.
Reclaim your own star. Believe in you. When you start, don’t stop. Do not stop.
Time to shine for you, yourself, beautiful sweetheart.
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