It has only been a day since I last wrote to your younger self, the innocent age of 14 year old self. I am now writing to the future that is yourself. Twenty years, precisely, twenty years would make you 47; if you do indeed make it that far. There is always that mysterious bus incident, which mind you, could indeed happen since you witnessed it in last season’s Grey’s Anatomy. In case you fail to do that math, not because you cannot do it, but because you are too lazy the year is 2012. I’m, in fact, too lazy to calculate the year you are residing in as you read this and if I chose to guess off hand, I am embarrassed to do so IN CASE I am wrong–2032? Let’s face it, I’m not the only one who reads this Blog. Though, this Blog may be obsolete by the time you get this, or so many posts may have been written that going into the archives could be overwhelming if not scary.
Moving on. Your memory is spotty, not just at 47, but at 27 which you are not now, but were. This is causing a minor headache as all math does for you. At the ripe old age of 24ish, maybe, could be 23 or 25, fuck if I remember—you were diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. You refused the diagnosis and were able to not only talk your family into believing you, but also your psychologist. I think you had a gift since you had been through the system since 15 with psychs and hospital stays and different diagnoses. Little were you aware of the time that you would have a relapse of psychosis in 2011, just last year! Well, not for you. You’d end up in the same psychiatrist’s office with him being so delighted that he was right and your former psychologist was wrong. Dude is a serious kid sometimes, if you don’t see him now. I don’t know how old he is or if he is the type to ever retire.
I can’t really imagine you changing too much, but you are like the hippy of this day and age. You are very free minded, opinionated, as much as you hate to admit it a little judgmental at times (if you dislike someone, you really dislike them), outspoken, free spirited, not without flaw, fair minded, and the most unique ability in my opinion—of course—being able to see two sides of anything whether it be in politics (it’s election time), relationships, anything that doesn’t go against the grain of your beliefs. If your best friend is dating a guy with domestic violence under his belt, there is nothing good that can come from him.
You’ve had some rough relationships under your belt. One was amazing, the love you felt has yet to be felt again, but it was not without control and violence that you were blind to until the end of it. You were shattered a long time thinking you hadn’t tried hard enough and that it was your fault the relationship turned the way it did. One was short lived and involved some heavy use of drugs that originally led to your psychosis and the Bipolar diagnosis. You’ve been single for over a year now, but that final relationship was not without love completely, but was trying to fit puzzle pieces together that weren’t meant for one another. It was cold at times, it was ineffective and at times felt like you weren’t enough and couldn’t be enough. Working 5 days a week with a relatively new very stress inducing promotion and being the only one required to clean a 4 bedroom house was too fucking much. Although for all I know you can be a powerhouse, but at your mid twenties, not so much.
I hope at 47 you don’t feel as old as you do at 27. I hope this letter will cause you to smile and to reminisce and that you don’t have early onset Alzheimer’s or dementia. Bipolar disorder is enough of a nuisance to your brain. I hope you have gone through many more experiences and learn more and more about yourself and the world including as much of the people in it. If you have chosen to bear a child or more I hope you mother as excellently if not better than your own mother. If you’ve married or find someone to spend your life with I hope that you fall in love with them everyday even when you hate them and they cause your blood to boil. And as it is your need to work, I hope the jobs that have filled your life or the career that has sprung is one that you adore as much as you can hate. I don’t want perfection, I want the best acceptance of total imperfection. Love your wrongs as much as your rights. Accept your criticisms as easily as your praises. Don’t let it all go to your head and be true to who you are, never a chameleon.
Look both ways always, that bus can be around any corner and never text and drive. xo
