A Letter To A Younger Me

Hey you.

It has been a while. I hope you do not think that I have been neglecting you. I didn’t realise how much I needed to separate you from me to get to where we are going. So much has happened since we last sat in our favourite places together; I want to speak indisputable truths to you, but I can’t help but think it best that we first remember the place where we first started this journey together.

I know you feel alone. A deep and immovable glass blanket of sorrow burns at the seams of what makes you you. I know the memories have created insurmountable walls to the inner being that lives inside of you. I know you built a tower of steel around yourself. And I know you painted that windowless prison with flowers, so that no one but you would ever see the desolation that ravages the inhabitants of your palace.

I know you hide from the pain that is your unshakable awareness. I know that you feel you will succumb to the burdens of your mind, and I am still pained to know that, at some points, you will. I know that it is in your palace that you will barricade yourself – hoping that by doing this, the monsters that chain you can somehow never be unleashed on unsuspecting others.

I know the things that you will do; the lengths that you will go to, not to be within yourself. I know the mistakes you will make and the people you will hurt, and I know the shame that you will feel flutter within your soul.

I know the failure you will run from, and the seemingly undeniable fate of death that you will run towards.

I know you believe in your ultimate defeat. You feel that in your bones.

But I also know that you feel the unmovable inkling of something else. Something bigger than you, and something more painful than defeat. I know you don’t know it yet; but that something is purpose.

Because you do come to have purpose, I think perhaps you always did. And it is from this purpose that your successes will be borne. I wouldn’t dare lie to you, I’ve seen it.

But you will know failure. You will unearth your truest fear; and that has always been yourself. The monster that chained you too young defined you, but you, at some point,  began to let it. You let him lead you astray and you let him continue to keep you lost until far after the lights looking for you had ceased to exist.

Your burdens should never have implanted themselves on such a young mind, but they did, and you had a right to mourn for your loss. But the thing about mourning is that, at some point, you have to work through what you are scared of, what has hurt you, and what you feel.

For a long time, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do that. I understand why; I’ve seen it. I know what’s inside your head and what’s inside your heart seem, to you, so ugly and unbearable that you daren’t let them be seen.

And I know that’s why you silenced yourself; why you allowed yourself to be docile and unapparent.

I know you were afraid of your voice, and I know you were afraid of allowing it to be heard. I know you feared the release of your demons; and I know that in a sadistic twistedness, the reason for that, was that those very demons became home for you.

You see, I know you. I have always seen you. And really, what that means; is that you have always seen you. And that scared the shit out of you. You saw an ugliness in yourself that only existed in the eyes of you. And in that reflection, you created an inner image of hate.

But what you didn’t see was the greatness that others saw in you; the determination and fragility; the limitless love and remarkable ability for empathy. What you didn’t see was the people rooting you on; wishing for your success and praying for your safe return.

You didn’t see the people holding the lights looking for you.

In your loneliness you didn’t see an entire stadium of people standing by you.

And I get that now. I know you wouldn’t have been able to see them if you tried. But they saw you. And none of that really mattered; but what does, is that one day YOU will see YOU. You will look yourself in the eyes, after what seems like decades of avoidance, and you will finally see that the ugliness was not nearly as horrid as you believed.

You will feel defeat, but you will not be defeated.

You will feel death, but you will not die. And it is entirely in your fortune that that is the case.  You will only appreciate how close you came to the oblivion when you are far far older.

No, you live. And you go on to do so much more.


You start to finish your mourning process, and you begin to heal. And in that healing you suffer more than you ever had before; more than you thought you could. You grow to know an inner sadness so removed from what you learned to know, that you finally realised the real depths and tones of sadness.

And one day, a long time from now, and I’m sorry about that, but one day, a while away, you will realise that you only ever wanted you. That you were lonely not for want of more people around you, but because you wished you could look your own self in the eyes without crumbling.

You needed you. And for the years that you ran in every direction away from yourself, you will find that in every instance forward you will run in every direction toward yourself.

And you will heal, and you will learn. A lot. More than you thought you were capable of. And one of the greatest things you will learn is to take the bad days with the good.

You will accept the parts of you that you perceive as ugly and you will learn to see and love the parts of you that are beautiful too.

I promise it is never the end whenever you think it is.

I promise that you get through it, and that in the future, you start to understand how to get through it every time.

I promise it gets easier dealing with the monsters you know. And I promise you that they will always be known friends, but they won’t always be your home.

I promise you that you will like yourself, and that glass plated tower will fall.

I promise that the flowers that adorned the outside of that castle, will soon too, adorn the inside.

Love Forever,



2 thoughts on “A Letter To A Younger Me

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s