a letter to my younger self

it’s okay, little girl. you don’t have to hurt yourself. don’t have to file your nails into sharp points, and dig them into your wrist. your body was never made to feel like a prison. but it does, some days.

you see… minds aren’t supposed to betray you like this. and it’s unfair, and it’s stupid. but i swear, this won’t last forever. you’ll survive the bad days, you’ll ride out your worst tsunamis and tidal waves, and you’ll learn how to rebuild.

you’ll make a home in musty doctor’s offices. in little orange bottles, and waiting rooms. run your hands through your hair, and watch your mind slip down the drain. you’ll be tired, and scared, and confused, and you’ll cry your fucking eyes out until you’ve got nothing left to lose.

but… there are good things, too. there are best friends and chocolate cake, and the rush it gives you every single time, when you step onto a stage. there are flannel shirts, and halsey songs, and cartoons. and somehow, it keeps you going for just a little longer.

but i know it’s scary. know nothing i say can fix what you’re going through. so i’ll stay here all night, if you need me too. sing you soft lullabies, and brush your hair off your cheek, as your shoulders slump, and you drift off into sleep.

i’ll keep you safe. make sure the monsters under the bed stay far, far away from you.

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