Dear 35-Year-Old Me

I hope you’re happy. Finally, after years and years of talking down to yourself, not thinking you’re deserving of love, or interaction or even a kind word from others—to think you’re not worth the attention of someone who clearly thinks you are—finally, I hope you’re happy. I hope you’ve listened to the people who told you were kind, and who told you that you made them smile, or that they continued doing something because you believed in them. I hope you still believe in people; I hope that after all the bad experiences you’ve had with the wrong people, it hasn’t clouded the fact that the world is full to the brim of lovely, lonely, vibrant and amazing people—and you love making a connection with them. And, to a lesser degree, I hope you’ve realised that when people told you that you were attractive, pretty, beautiful, etc., you don’t have to explain to them why you’re not. You’re not up your own arse for accepting kindness. Yeah, life’s not about being a piece of art, or attracting others, or people fancying you—but it’s not about berating your appearance either. Sometimes, it’s okay to feel good about yourself, and sometimes it’s okay to spend money on looking good. I hope you realise how lucky you are that you had the body you had (and put no effort into). And I hope one day you look at pictures of yourself and realise that you were beautiful.

Two majorly bad things happened to you when you were a younger teen. They shattered your trust in people and made you think that life was full of the bad guys. Realise that it’s not. I hope you’ve learnt that it’s not your fault that these things happened to you. Deep down you know that, but sometimes when you listen to how people talk to you on the street or look at you—you think you invited it. You didn’t. No decision was given to you. Realise how strong you are. You got up day after day feeling like the world didn’t owe you common decency. You continued to speak to strangers because you loved people, you loved how friendly two strangers could be. And when you entered your twenties, you met amazing people. They helped you more than they’ll ever know. There were times when you pushed them away because you thought they’d hurt you, there were times when you were so puzzled that anyone would want to be with you in any capacity that you’d find yourself engineering your exit, and you’d accused them either in person or in your mind of being a liar. Be glad you didn’t leave. You found two good guys in a horrible world. I hope you’ve learned from them, and I hope you still know them—in any capacity. And I hope you’ve met many more. I hope you realised your worth; I hope a risk of hurt and vulnerability paid off. And that lovely, unexpectedly amazing boyfriend of yours at 22, well—he just maybe made you realise how special you are. He loved you. Did he inspire you to love yourself?

I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’ve started to realise how strong I can be. I cry, I whinge, I need a hug—but then, I’ll get on with it. I push through because I know I can do it. I know what I’m worth, deep down I do, and I know my body and mind push me to the limit to achieve it. You achieved a first class degree during a three-year battle with panic attacks, and depression and anxiety. You took a bottle to the face from an EDL member because you stood up for your belief in equality at 19. I hope you carry on; I hope you realise that life is hard; it’s not down to being a bad, weak or disorganised person, sometimes it’s down to bad luck, and I hope you realise what’s the most important is how you react to situations. I hope you’re a psychotherapist helping other people not to feel how you feel—I hope you work with young people so they enjoy their teens and adulthood. I hope you’ve made a difference to someone’s life, and made them realise the things it took you a little longer to understand. Help others, anywhere and any way you can. Remember what it’s like to be alone in a room full of people—always make friends with the quiet ones, and the shy ones, and don’t make assumptions of others. Be kind, always. It’s so important.

I hope you learn how to be kind to yourself. Right now, you’re your own worst enemy. The constant criticism and voices are toxic. They have you running around in circles and preparing for a situation which is a total fiction. I hope you know two things: it’s not your fault you don’t like yourself, but it’s only you who can make you like yourself. You’ve been exposed to various sources of negativity. Some were intentional—vicious and made to make your crumble, and some weren’t—some were a product of the other person's own poor self-esteem. And realise that the voices in your head mirror these COMPLETELY: “i’m not good enough” / “good things don’t happen to fuck ups” / “you’re a psycho” / “you don’t deserve to be happy” / “you’d be better off dead” / “you’re boring”; you’re so much better than the experiences you’ve had. You’re overwhelmed with the thought that you could be someone—but you can, and you’ve started to be. There are times when you walk down a road and want the world to swallow you up because you can’t bear people looking at you. You don't want them to see how awkward you walk, or how your ears stick out when the wind blows. But there are other times when you fucking strut down the road, and you know how attractive you look. There’s a foundation in you that you can build on—it’s just be clouded by the voices. I’d love to see how far you go when you tell these voices to fuck off. Remember how it feels to stand up for others—how good it feels to stand up to injustice and to fight for others without a voice. Find your voice for yourself.

And sometimes, I hope you realise that some people aren’t deserving of your kindness. That doesn’t warrant nastiness, bitchiness, or meanness. But it does warrant putting yourself first. Sometimes you feel drained in the company of certain people. Sometimes you feel like you have to reword your stories so that you’re not accused of being over-sensitive or self-centred or seeming like you’re bragging. These people are not your friends. I hope you’ve surrounded yourself with good people who you feel at home with. You’ve started to, but there’s a few toxic people left. Realise you can’t change these people—realise it’s better to have fewer, closer friends than a group who would happily see you passed out of a sofa off your face on the drugs you took while they encouraged you. I hope you’ve stuck to your word about avoiding the phases of self-destruction. It was never you, and it was never what you expected yourself to be. It’s because it isn’t you. You’re a naturally happy person—it’s hard to understand sometimes—it’s like being manic in a dull world—experiences have made you sad, but you’re so so naturally happy. You love life. You really really do. Embrace it.

I hope you’ve stopped apologising for who you are. Stop excusing bad behaviour towards you as a reflection of yourself. You are not defined by being annoying, or over-sensitive. If people are mean to you, it’s not your problem. You constantly try to be nice to others, you’re trying your best. Don’t say sorry for crying, or talking too much, or asking someone for a favour. Saying sorry is taking away your power, and taking away your right to express yourself. Stop trying to be a blank slate where people can determine your expressions. Don’t be afraid of showing someone yourself. You are vulnerable, but so is everyone else. Behind the bravado, and the humour, and the attitude, everyone is a child looking for unconditional love. And the right people will give you it.

I hope you know that by being nice to yourself you’re fulfiling the last wish of your nan. When you were 21, your nan passed away 6 months after your grandad. And it hurt more than anything you’ve experienced. It pushed you to the limit when you were 22, and you shut down completely. You had to have people hold your hand when you slept, and you starved yourself, and you made yourself sick, and you wanted to totally self-destruct. But you started to listen to new voices—and you remembered the last conversation with your nan. You remembered asking her how you could make her happy, and she said, by having a nice life. I hope you hold yourself to that. She gave you so much love and direction and affection, so unconditionally and so freely. Why isn’t this the voice you listen to now? Why isn’t this the loudest voice? I hope you make her voice the loudest you can hear.

I hope you’re still a loud, funny, extroverted, show-off who loves making people laugh. I hope you remember how many people called you boss. I hope you still make yourself laugh, I hope you still dance around when you're on your own and laugh at yourself falling over in public. I hope you still take the piss out of yourself to make other people laugh—and I hope you don’t take yourself too seriously. I’d hate it if you became a proper person. Still be a gimp, still be a bit mental, a bit intense, a bit attention-seeking. Just be less depressed because I know you’re a pixie trapped in a shitty world sometimes, but you’ve just got to make everyone else pixies—don’t become a depressed prick to make it easier on others. Keep laughing when you feel like crying. Keep smiling when you feel like crying. Keep talking when you wanna go to sleep. Keep others so close that they tell you to fuck off and hug them till they accept you as the extra limb you are.