#reason to stay here

Dear Self of Yesterday,

 I know it’s difficult when you get to feeling like that, when you feel lost and disillusioned with life. And I know that things seem like they would be easier if you weren’t here. But then if you leave, you don’t give me a chance to make things better for you.

 I want to make things better for you. I want you to meet people with opinions different than your own and not only stand up for your own opinion but be able to respect theirs as well.

 I want you to meet a girl that will turn your world upside down and another girl that will turn it right side up. A girl for left and a girl for right; a girl for north, south, east and/or west. And whatever girl makes you feel the most like staying, stay with her for as long as you can.

Please don’t hate me when I say that I don’t want to make the same mistakes you have made. I will not, and this is a promise, I will not fall for another fantasy of a person. Ashlee was an once-in-a-lifetime person, at least I hope she was. So don’t make the same mistake.

We are in therapy now, you and I. We must work things out together. So on the mornings when you wake up crying, I’ll be here to say “It’s a new day.”

I promise to learn how to stop hating you for crying. I promise to learn how to love you despite the mistakes you make. I promise to get out of bed more often, unless there is someone else in bed worth staying in bed with. I promise to help you reach your dreams and goals for they are mine, too.

And always remember, those times you look in the mirror and are NOT ashamed of yourself- of your mistakes, your gayness, your naked body- those are the real moments of enlightenment.

I can’t tell you who I am today yet, but I can tell you, it’s getting better.

Dear Self of Yesterday, I love you, and will learn to love you even more.

 With all my love,

Hannah Maddox

P.S.

Trust Yvonne. Love your mother. Get more tattoos. Do what makes you happy and most of all, thanks for being strong, even when you didn’t want to be.  Oh, and don’t give up on being a Spoken Word artist, some things need to be said aloud.

Girl, embrace the silence.

Too often you remember silence in its darkest sense,

The silence of every suicide letter and every heart-felt sob,

When you curled on your floor to sleep, too broken to crawl into bed.

You remember the silence of each anti-depressant capsule sliding

Cautiously down your throat, empty promises and silent “change,”

Even as you accepted that you still wouldn’t be able to laugh with real emotion.

Silence can be ominous and overwhelming, carving scars into your flesh,

Or it can be beautiful.

It can bloom in warmth with a fragile friend,

Whose hand you hold in the moment when life feels the coldest,

When her friends don’t know why her eyes lower when they talk about boys,

And her family doesn’t know that she feels more comfortable in guy’s underwear.

And she still doesn’t understand the term “queer” let alone this emotion.

But you walk into the depths of the night’s darkness. Together.

And in the silence of chirping crickets, neither of you feel quite so alone.

Silence can fill an empty space, room, heart with a peace that transcends pain,

When your friend decides he wants to destroy himself.

And you hold him until his heart heals, kissing his tears away.

And your hands rest upon his back until his darkness is behind him,

And your empathy reaches into his chest,

And you reset your pulse to his until his racing heart steadies.

Silence can knit lives together like hands locked in unison,

Like tears washed together in a worry basin,

Like two mouths breathing softly in the same lower bunk.

And she was silent when I touched her angel kisses with my finger,

And gave her every prayer I had in my tired, weakened body,

So that hers could be strong once again.

Silence can bind chords to make the two stronger,

And as two lay together in books, bathwater, and sand to keep each other warm,

Wrapping each other in love in the heartbreak of the summer.

And her fiery hair matched her heart in the silence of those nights,

When they danced and drank in the silence of their minds,

Finding consolation in the presence of one another’s spirits.

Girl, embrace the silence.

It has been dark, but it has been bright.

and there will come a day that you will be silenced

before the most serene silence of real Love

your mouth will be shut in awe when you recognize that these silent moments

are seeds simply birthed from the tree of Everlasting Reality

a Love beyond our grasp the fullness of silence

filling voids with peace that will always be

and those moments of pain will have brought greater clarity

to bring you to your silent knees which had for years cried out for answers

and here Love stands before you, painting silence

with love-filled scars that match yours but deeper

and love-filled eyes that match your sister’s but bigger

and love-filled tears that match your mother’s but fiercer

and Love will look on all the world and bring us to beautiful silence

Girl, embrace the silence.

G’day younger me,

Today I want you to recall the story of the first time you walked hand in hand with someone. And I know that you know of whom I’m talking, because this person will not disappear from your mind for ages.

But anyway, back to the story: Can you remember the exact date of this day? I do not. And it doesn’t even matter at all. It was such a typical day in first middle-school. It was a rather warm day and the sun was shining. You and your classmates were just coming back to school from a getaway, watching a play in the city or something, and another horrible maths class was waiting for you, so you were trying to make your way back as slowly as you could (or as your caretaker allowed you to be). Your best (and only) friend at this time, Laura, was walking beside you and you were chatting about some insignificant middle-school stuff. You felt great, even if the idea of another maths class scared you a bit. Already close to the playground Laura asked curiously if she could try out something with you. You agreed so she asked your caretaker if she could leave you for a moment. And then she did the incredible! She just took your hand and led you over the street as you would be any other “normal” person in the world. “It’s working,“ was the only thing she said and smiled as you. And in this moment it occurred to you that Laura was one of the rare people who are able to see through your disability and observe you as you really are: normal and smart. Hand in hand you two walked the last meters to school. She even managed to lead you over the ramp without leaving your hand for a second. I think you felt like the happiest person in the world and you were perfectly sure that you had found a true friend!

Even with so many years passed by I can tell you that the school year Laura and you spent together was one of the most light-hearted, best and happiest times of your life. But you also know what happened after Laura moved back to Germany. Or maybe you do not already know. So let me tell you:

The deep, deep depression you tumbled in after her leaving was nothing else than the horrible first-time-lovesickness which is always the worst. Yes, darling, you may not have known but you were in love with this girl, who was so open-minded and straight-away.

And I can tell you another thing: It is perfectly alright. It’s perfectly alright not to know who you are. It’s perfectly alright not be sure about your sexuality. And it is also perfectly alright that you discovered this all only a long time after her departure. There will be other occasions to discover even more things and you will meet more people who make you feel as welcome as Laura did, it doesn’t matter if they are male or female. Just take your time and wait for it.

With the deepest affection,

Still-not-sure-and-disabled-but finally-18-year-old-and-right in this-moment-officially-outed Jenny

Dear Past-Max,

             Know this: you’re fucking cool. Listen. This is your massive ego shouting at you through time. You sit there in French class feeling so uncomfortable because you don’t know who knows That Thing and also all you can think about is how you’ll never be able to talk about dudes with That Straight Girl the way she does with That Other Straight Girl because you’re afraid of how other people will hate you. Kill this fear now. You can’t sacrifice your own mental health for the comfort level of others.

            Also: finish it. You have to drink it all. There is no other way. Throw all of your grace into the furnace and TELL THEM ALL how hella gay you are. You will be just fine.

            I want to tell you something I’ve done.

            Okay here we go – it’s freshman year of college.

            I’ve found new parts of myself through new mediums. I went to a showcase of performance ensembles on campus and auditioned for just one of them. They ultimately took me in. For the callback, I/you/we had grabbed a really stupid looking piece of wood from a pile of random shit at the first round of auditions and called it “the stake of self-actualization” … and just sort of presented it as a metaphor with some water and a piece of paper – the water being Truth (in this case, through art) and the paper being the Soul. Using this metaphor as a lens, I told them (almost) everything about me, about us. See, without the Water, your Soul cannot be pierced by the Stake. Your Soul must be softened first with truth. You have to accept it unconditionally.

             What I’m getting at is this: I came out to a rather large group of strangers! You can do it too! I didn’t tell them everything, but I told them about our darkness, laid out our shame on the table and laughed at it. They laughed with me. And it went perfectly. It was the most honest, raw and truthful thing I have ever said or done. I walked out of that room thinking “What did I just do?????” with that many question marks.

            But it’s not all pretty up here.

            Ace dies of a sudden and unforeseeable cancer. It literally just happens. You get back from spring break, he’s not barking or jumping or eating or anything, really – your mom takes him to the hospital, and she calls home trying not to cry and chokes out the words “they have to put him to sleep.” You and Dad drive over and she’s swaddling him in a blanket muttering, “I’m sorry, Acey, I’m so sorry” over and over and over again.

            Death happens. But that’s not always a bad thing. Because so will that acidic fizz in your chest, so will this dulled-down and buried version of yourself. You won’t live numb anymore, and you don’t have to now.

Love, Future-Max

Dear Fifteen Year Old Me,

    You are in for quite the year. People are going to die, which is going to feel like the end of the world. You’re going to realize that the reason things aren’t working with your boyfriend is because you like girls. But worst will be the downward spiral of depression and anxiety, when you’ll feel like you are close to ending it yourself. But when you’re at the darkest moments, I want you to think of this story I have for you.

    In 2013 you’re going to head south to college. It’s going to be scary, you’re going to think of all of the things that can go wrong, but let me tell you about this one night that is going to go very right for you. It’ll be close to midnight when you’re feeling down, sitting in your common room with two of your friends. It’ll be a night that you feel very close to hurting yourself again, but that is going to change. Your friends (remember to thank them for this) will suggest driving to the beach, even though it’s after midnight. Four of you will pile in the car and drive the ten minutes to the good beach. You’ll feel shitty until you put your feet in the water and let it wash away the problems covering you. Soon, you’ll be pantsless with your roommate, knee deep in freezing water, and your heart will be the lightest it has been in a long time. The four of you will get something to eat and you’ll be able to laugh again. When you go home you will feel like you are floating. Your sadness and anxiety will melt away, not forever, but long enough to gain perspective.

    After that, you’re going to be smart and try the antidepressants your doctor recommended, and it will be the best decision you make all year. You’re going to gain a lot of confidence in your abilities and a lot of love for yourself. In the end, though, the ocean is what will teach you to let go, to free yourself from anxiety. Things are going to get a whole lot better and I’m so glad you’re going to choose to stay and see it.

Much love,

Maddy

P.S. Attached is a picture from that night. Hold on to it and remember to let the bad things wash over you. 

Dear 12 Year Old Me,

I know you feel like the dumbest person in the entire world when you don’t get all of your spelling words right. I know your stomach ties itself in more knots than the ones on your sneakers when mom doesn’t answer her phone. I know that you feel the same way way about the girl who sits next to you in English as you do the boy who sits across from you in math, and it scares the shit out of you.

Believe me, I know all about the self loathing and isolation that you feel. I know there are days when you think, “if I died today, it wouldn’t matter”.

I am not writing this letter to tell you that the feelings you posses will go away, because they won’t. There will still be days when you will want nothing more then to stop existing, to erase every last mark you left on this planet. I am writing this letter to tell you about the wonder, and joy, and freedom that you will miss if you give up the fight to keep existing.

You will miss the day when you come marching out of closet, to the beat of the biggest bass drum. Locking all of your inhibitions back inside the prison that held you captive for so long. You will not feel the shackles of secrecy and disgust being lifted off your strong wrists.

You will never get to feel the overwhelming sense of pride when you say things like “my body, my decision” or “fuck the patriarchy”. I know you’re not allowed to swear yet, but let me tell you, there is nothing more liberating than telling your oppressor to fuck themselves.

You will never get to walk down “Queer Street W.” during 2014 World Pride. Or be introduced to a community where you can be unapologetically yourself.

You will never get to see you favorite movies, or read your favorite books, or listen to music that feels like it was written just for you. Right now you are stuck in a whirlpool of middle school conformity, I promise you soon enough you will find out who you really are. (A raging humanist that likes wearing black and making sarcastic comments.)

You will never get a cat, your best and longest relationship. You won’t be there for your best friend when she shows you the scars from the monsters that plagued her for so long. You need to stay not only for yourself, but for the people that will need your petite shoulders to rest their weary heads on.

Most of all, I want you to know that you are not alone in this world. That there are people outside of our small hometown that think your sardonic remarks are funny, not “really rude and hurtful”. Also, there are worse things in this world than a bad haircut.

Keep your head up, always do what you think is right and remember, “You are you. Now isn’t that pleasant?”

Faithfully yours,

Future You

P.S. You never do get better at spelling.

Take more pictures, younger self, cause you are gonna want a before and after, all the stuff that’s gonna happen to you. Like Jurassic and Cretaceous periods in those huge books when you were a four year old (boy), you will want a comparison, to see it stark and illustrated. The different species there. There will be no cutting yourself to see the strata. Relax, I promise that love really is just as good, better even  than the dreams you have about it before you fall asleep or while taking a lonely car ride on the night of junior prom. Everything you ever heard in those songs with your windows rolled down will be true. Now your windows are stuck down and the songs on the tape are always blasting.  

You will be so in love that very often you can hardly stand to discuss anything else, even your good job or the hot weather or home, all good things. Nothing is thisgood. Every time you see her your heart will make this sound that feels like turning inside out, like restoring it from everything that ever made it sting, not in a way that hurts, but in a way that’s significant, heavy. A way to receive all the happiness you have about you. A way to receive the most love into you, and maybe to exhale it back out.

Suddenly there is a distinct reason you are the way you are. Your body anchored to your feet anchored to the ground. Your shoulders never squarer than now, even more than the first time you came home from college, walking proudly out of the B terminal like a regular grown man. You will feel more real than the times you had whole bullets, whole addresses, books in your pockets, more real than times you have stood in front of your dad and said no, in front of your town and said no. Pocketknives in the wilderness, carving your name. At the gas station at night with Derek, driving up for no good reason. You imagine the big, booted guy pumping gas at the next truck calling you queers but you drive away. You are always driving away, and you finally do (for good), don’t worry. You are the way you are because someone will love you for it.

I know that right now you only feel like a little bit of yourself, perhaps the smallest amount possible. There are times we all rely on just the acceptable shards of us. Don’t worry, soon you’ll use the word butch a little like a crooked-smiled cuss word and a little like a prayer about yourself. I think you are kind of scared of it now, that’s ok. It’s scary to learn, to grow into yourself, but everything will be different. Accept that you are, after all, holy. Prayers used to repulse you, they seemed too easy. It does, in fact, become easier. You will start to write only really obvious poetry (you are allowed to be preemptively embarrassed by it) because things are so beautiful the way they are without the fluffy devices you learned in Misses Nielsen’s, that’s how you will know that you’re approaching your whole self, and that’s all a person can ask for. So take out the braids, laugh at yourself. You are gonna make it out fine.

Love,

Kyky

Dear Hannah,

                  Hi! It’s Hannah. I’d like to begin by saying pixie cuts are the way to go, friend. I’d only wish we learned that earlier. You lost the braces, too. Thank goodness. They didn’t suit you so well either. Basically, just wait a couple years and you’re going to be one fine looking gal. Only slightly more mature, though. I’ll give that trait another ten years or so to develop.

Not to say that life didn’t throw maturational experiences at you. Because it totally did. Rude. But, you’ve got a lot more determination and resolve than I would have expected out of a kid at your measly age of fourteen. I hear middle school is pretty rough for everyone, and you made it through that with only a few tears shed over balancing chemical equations! A+! Good work! And high school… well let’s just say you’re lucky to have your friends. Friends that you still have, surprisingly. Which reminds me: during our next life, let’s try to turn down the micromanaging, alright?

Not to go all scholarly on you, but I read this article recently where this sociologist named Brené Brown said that “perfectionism is basically a cognitive behavioral process that says if I look perfect, work perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid shame, ridicule, and criticism. It’s a defense mechanism.” I wish I had someone to tell me that earlier; I wish I had someone to show me that making mistakes and screwing up a bit wouldn’t ruin me. And that all those things you did that are “so embarrassing” and “cringe-worthy” or whatever – dude, like, people don’t even notice that stuff. For the most part, if it’s not about them, they don’t care. Obviously a lot of people are interested in what you have to say, but they’re really not going to think about that one time you… Actually, I don’t even remember what you did. Which proves my point. I’m not going to say “life is about making mistakes” or something that reeks with absolutism, but it’s chill if you mess up every once and awhile. It’s good for you, I think.

You should learn from your mistakes, though. One of the things I regret most is not shaking off internalized prejudices earlier in life. Right now, young Hannah is someone who revels in the fact that she’s “not like other girls.” First of all, gross. Cut that crap while you can, dude. Lose the special snowflake complex while you still have the chance. It’s hard to wrap your head around it, but I’m telling you that by looking down upon other women and girls, you’re really only hurting yourself. It’s tough identifying as a female in this society, but the way to deal with that is not to distance yourself from the only people who know what you’re going through. It’s easy to help yourself up by pushing others down (I sound like our Mom, don’t I? Just wait a few years. The similarities get even more noticeable), but it’s just not the right way to go about things. No more shaming people for the way they dress, or how they talk, or what they do with their lives. Don’t worry about them. Worry about the people who think they can pass judgment on the way another person simply exists.

Overall, you did a pretty solid job. You’re a much better person than you think you are. I mean, I turned out alright, which means you must have done something correctly! Give yourself a pat on the back, but don’t get too excited. You’ve still got the rest of high school and college to contend with.
                  Don’t worry though. There’s a lot to look forward to. And, yes, The Strokes do eventually play a show that you can go to. Thank god.

Love,

Hannah

Dear 18 Year-Old Julia, 

I am writing to tell you a story about the first time you kiss a boy on the mouth. Yes, it does happen. I know how much you think about it. Not so much the kiss itself, but what it means that you are 18 years old and have not kissed a boy yet. I know you wake up in cobwebs of insecurity and are thoroughly convinced that your un-kissed lips are some flashing neon indicator of the fact that you are never going to find anyone who loves you. I know you think that maybe there is something wrong with you and you plant seeds of self-judgment in your belly to the point that deep breaths are weed ridden. I know you feel like you are waiting to become a normal person. So, I am here to tell you that it does happen. One night, you sit in your dorm room with a very nice boy and you listen to very nice music. Somewhere in the middle of a song you feel overwhelmed by the years you have been telling yourself that kissing a boy on the mouth is the key to being who you want to be and you blurt out something like, “If you want to you should probably kiss me now, okay?” And he kisses you. Even though he goes in for just a little kiss, you want a kiss like you have seen in every romantic comedy so you stay with your lips pressed up against his for far too long. It’s pretty weird. After he leaves, you sit on your bed contemplating the experience you thought was going to be life changing and you are overcome with a feeling of…meh. In that moment you start to realize that everything you wanted to feel was not going to come from kissing a boy, but was already inside of you hiding behind swallowed stones of other people’s normal. There is more power inside of you than could ever be created for you by another person. You start doing things to nurture this power. You become a Gender and Women’s Studies major and start saying things like, “vote with your vagina” and, “actually, gender and sexuality are social constructions.”  You surround yourself with people who could not care less who you are/are not kissing and are always there to tell you that you are a good one. There will be all kinds of people who kiss you on your lips, but I want you to know this has very little significance in defining how you practice your purpose. I know that right now this is hard to understand. I know you just want to fit into your jeans, and not be sweaty when you get to class, and be asked to a freaking dance. You are never asked to a dance, and that is okay. You are doing fine.

With Self-Love,

22 Year-Old Julia