• A letter from the future: Stay you.


    My self from the future, 20 years from now, has sent me a letter:

    It’s been years now.

    When I look back I can’t believe the person I was back then. Who was she? And how did I become into this? What happened?

    I think I slowly started to fade, and I disappeared in the back of my head, as I let a strange ghost take over everything I thought I was. It was easier. I didn’t have to fight so much that way. The world shaped me even when I didn’t want it to.

    Except it didn’t actually shape me. It deformed me. It killed me so very slowly, drowning all my dreams, asphyxiating my innocence, my will to love, to live, to learn… Until all was left of me was an empty shell, a robot of some sort, a zombie.

    At first I fought against it. I fought against all currents, against the gravity that tried to pull me into becoming what I feared the most. I dedicated to educate myself so I wouldn’t become one of them. I tried to be “strong”. I tried to remain soft, kind, loving. I tried to dissolve the feelings and emotions in my nature that wanted me to destroy. Myself. And everything else. Stay soft. Stay kind. Stay loving. I tried. 

    But at one point, I couldn’t hold it anymore. I started to wish it was all different. I started to wish I was like them. Empty. But probably better. Maybe they were right, and I was the weak one. Yes, I should be less like this, and more like that. I don’t know exactly when it happened, or if something specific happened that shifted something in me and turned my switch off.

    Is it better now? I don’t think so. Most days I feel dead inside. Just like the rest of them. The worst  part? Most days I don’t even care. I can’t feel shit. I can’t believe I wished for this to happen. But I don’t think I care enough to make it change right now. Maybe today I care a bit more than usual and that’s why I’m writing this.

    Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us.


    I close the letter I found underneath my pillow a few minutes ago. It does sound like me.

    I have been feeling odd lately. It’s been tough. Trying to remain myself. Trying not to get burned by all this fire. Trying to remain untouched by all the dirt they throw. It’s so difficult. Like some days I forget who I am. And I mean the real me. Not the crazy impulses and emotions that confuse me too. The one that lives in my heart rather than my mind, that’s my real self.

    She’s so scared. It feels like the world needs to destroy her. There’s no place for someone like her right here. But I still try to maintain the flame of this spirit burning bright, against all odds. Even in the worst days, even when I feel like all is lost, something remains quite in the back, staring and listening. All I can do is stay still, but it’s enough to keep the spark alive. I don’t want to be taken down.

    I don’t want to be alive but dead inside. I refuse to let it kill me. I refuse to die just because I feel too much. I refuse to be called weak just because I am so damn alive. I will stay soft… and kind… and loving.

    I refuse to hide my heart.

    Picture from pixabay

  • The river will flow.


    I am a river. You will never encounter me twice. You will never see this again. I am never the same when I look at the mirror, probably because I don’t do it often. I am never the same when I look deep inside my head, I am always discovering new corners, new rooms… New scars. It’s hard to notice because I am with myself all the time (how annoying), but change happens way to often. It’s too quick for me to follow.

    I am a current, and I have no choice. Everything spins so fast, and I can’t stop.

    I flow up and down, sometimes against the wind, sometimes against gravity. Sometimes against my own will.

    Some days I go dry, like thirsty empty veins, waiting for another heartbeat.

    Some days I don’t know myself. I can’t recognize this person. This mind, this body. I don’t understand the words that I speak, or the words that I hear. And I stay quiet, like stagnant waters… If I don’t move, I am sure it will pass… It will pass. My streams will flow again.

    It will pass.

    Some days I am light. I can see clearly, my eyes wide open, colors sharp, I can see all edges and shapes of a somehow easy reality… But some days I am dark. I see nothing but cliffs and empty spaces, too many painful questions and no solutions. I am attracted to sharp objects, and my skin longs and screams for things that I don’t want to understand.

    It will pass.

    Sometimes I go mad.

    Sometimes I realize.

    It scares me to think that sometimes I don’t.

    Sometimes I can’t do anything about it. I just stop and stare. Until it passes.

    I(t) will pass.

    It took me years to understand that it would probably always be like this. The river will always flow until it goes dry. But it will be a river again, soon enough. (And it will dry once more.)


    River from pixabay