Dear Slightly-Younger-Me,


I am here to offer you my sincere condolences. Actually, I’m here to let you know that your eyes aren’t going to “be opened in a wondrous way someday.” They’re going to be forcibly ripped open and taped to stay that way while you navigate the quite frankly terrifying real world in about five seconds. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Lo ciento, pero es verdad, chica.

So you’ve probably long sine abandoned your Spanish homework- as you can tell from the pitiful attempt above- and have taken to hugging your knees on the stairs while you eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the living room.

And in a few minutes your idiot of a father is going to call you in and lamely try to explain to you that- Hmmm. Really? Our sister despises herself and life itself and has chosen to unproductively take a razor to her arm? Repeatedly? Oh, dear, that is a problem ISN’T IT?! You know, Dear Ol’ Dad, it was a problem nine months ago when I told people about this and they didn’t believe me. So… “YAY!” We were right- but don’t spend your life expecting an apology. Believe me, it’s never going to happen.

So seriously- forget your life; your writing, your music, your grades, etc… it’s all about her, isn’t it? This time around won’t be nearly as bad as the one in a few months, though- February, I believe. Haha, Valentine’s Day- what a lovely time to contemplate family fluff in a nuthouse waiting room! As I now direct my attention to 2/2014-version, I feel compelled to give you the same inspiring advice our lovely family did- suck it up, girlfriend.

Ah! Here we are! The girl I really wanted to talk to. You’re in a same scenario as the last bean-pole, aren’t you? Oh, you were having a lovely day, weren’t you? You got an A- on the science test you were worrying about (nice job on that, by the way- it occurs to me that no one else bothered to say it to me), your secret-admirer gave you a smiley-face sticker on your locker to make you feel good (hint: it did), and your friends and you split your bake sale purchases at that ugly gray lunch table.

And lo and behold! You just watched it shatter as you read the text- text! - aloud from your lovely father to Mom. “We need to talk at home,” you say, keeping your voice from quivering. “It’s about the house in South Carolina,” your mom tells you confidently. “It must be.” But guess what? It wasn’t.

It was how that morning the **CENSORED** himself was struck with the simply unconquerable feeling to open Natalie’s locked door, go through all of her personal items until he found that diary, and read it. He read it. That **CENSORED** you knew it you knew it you knew it was him.
So the next day, after what I can confidently say is the actual worst day of your life (so far, at least), you go to school with a brave face and go to class and only cry in the bathroom twice. Heck, you even discussed the homework with Mrs. Hopkins at break because you knew no one else liked to.

But then DAD picked you up and your breath caught in your throat as you practically flew to the truck and threw your stuff in, slamming the door behind you so no one hears.

“Natalie?” You asked, because there should’ve been no other topic on anyone’s mind at that point. Finally Dad could be bothered to assume something correctly. “Well, about Natalie…”
He speaks impossibly slow. You fought the urge to groan.

“Well, your sister’s at a hospital called St. Andrew’s right now. It’s… a special hospital… for people with special… problems like hers. She’ll be there for a while.”

You knew exactly how all those book characters did when their life flashed before their eyes. “A while,” you repeat as slowly as he spoke. He nodded, searching for emotions in your face to reach out and hug like he could ten years ago. Well, too bad, Dad- that was ten years ago, sucker.

“So, like, overnight?” You hate yourself for talking like those girls in your grade, the ones that you’d love to show their parents a video tape of, just to show them how not-perfect they are, just to open their eyes for once. Dad nodded.

So now you’re here, promising yourself over and over again how you will not be a bother to anyone in the world ever again, at least as long as this is going on. So go on- try it. Maybe for the first few days you’ll succeed. MAYBE you’ll keep your room spotless constantly and MAYBE you’ll make the meals and MAYBE you’ll crank out A’s faster than Nirvana cranked out fangirls. I’m sure that’ll work. But try it for the next couple months- try it for ten times longer than you thought it’d be (also consider in this grand plan of yours that no one will compliment you on acting like a clean-Kurt Cobain).

But I need to tell you something- everything’s o-k-a-y.

Please don’t cry yourself to sleep at night or stop yourself from letting someone know or let the tears stain your theology essay. And your history essay. And your chemistry essay. Tell yourself that “everything’s gonna be alright” as only the song can. Go against what your parents say and tell your friends (oops! Already did!).

Even though it may not seem like it sometimes, people love you. Especially me.

I love you for making me me. So keep calm and just carry on, girlie. You’ll make it through. I’d know, wouldn’t I?