Little one, 

Breathe. I know that’s obnoxious advice to hear. I know it because you know it (one of the benefits of a letter to your past self). But it’s one of the only things I can really give you that I know’s gonna be valuable because it’s one of the only things that really stays consistent through all this- our need for breath. 

I’m not just talking about oxygen to your lungs. I’m talking about taking in what you need and letting go of what you don’t, I’m talking about inhaling the life the universe has created for you and exhaling what you in turn can provide to the universe. I’m talking about patterns, about rhythm, about finding a stillness in the steady repetition of the heartbeat in your chest and your breath and the tap of your fingers.

I know you hate being told that it gets better. It feels like you’re surrounded by people who say “it gets better,” a mantra that builds up like a wall between you and everyone who could actually give you something helpful. I think when people tell you “It gets better” they’re mostly trying to tell their past selves, just like I’m telling you now, but it falls flat because all they end up saying to you is, “it got better for me.” Which is fine, dude, cool for you, straight white cis patriarchy man, but like, you know shit about me or what’s hanging around in my brain or whether I can come out of that brain cloud okay.

We still hate that, but I think I’m the only person you know who’s got any sort of pass to tell you “it gets better” because I’m the only person you’re gonna talk to anytime soon who’s doing more than just saying “it got better for me,” ‘cuz “it got better for me” really does me it can get better for you, and lovely, when this gets to you, I can guarantee you that things are looking up in some respects, and looking down in others. 

Life isn’t a novel with introduction rising action climax falling action conclusion- it’s a mess of dips and dives and hills, some of them you can’t even see until you’ve passed them and some of them I can’t see even now, and trying to characterize all of that as improving or declining is a mistake you’re gonna make over and over again until finally it hits you in the face that things can be getting better and getting worse all at the same time. 

You’re gonna have days when everything tastes like bitterness and your little black Mary Janes are more scuff than shoe and when you say ‘I need help’ with more sob than voice in your throat they’re gonna laugh and walk away. You’re gonna have days when you feel helpless and broken and all you can do is lie on the couch and eat stale European chocolate you’ve been hoarding for probably three years now and watch the saddest episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer you can think of and just cry your eyes out about the star-crossed love of Buffy, vampire slayer, and Angel, brooding, heavy-browed gentleman with a penchant for blood. You’re going to have whole months when it feels like the world is just a little bit off, all hard edges you can’t get your fingers into and sold out tickets to the Avengers and words that won’t stick in your brain. And you’re gonna have days- rare, beautiful, wonderful days when it’s six in the morning and it’s warm and soft and comfortable and your friends are by your side and you’ve been watching YouTube videos about how to care for your hamster for like, three hours even though none of you have ever owned a hamster, days when you open the mailbox and there’s a package in there for you and when you open it, it’s full of that same European chocolate, slightly melted from the Arizona heat but blissfully still within sell-by date, sent to you by thoughtful friends far away. 

I’ve watched a lot of sci-fi, a lotta Star Trek, so I’m not gonna risk disrupting the whole space-time continuum or whatever to tell you everything that’s coming. You don’t need it anyways, little one. You make it just fine. I’m living proof. And I think that’s all you need to know- you make it through all of it, all the chronics; all the dizziness; and the dark. You make it through all of it.  Even the times that you wish you wouldn’t. Especially those times. Just keep breathing. Take care of yourself when you can and how you can, whatever that looks like, whatever it has to look like. 

And don’t apologize for taking up space when your lungs are full. 

The hardest thing you’re ever gonna have to do in this world is live in it, so all I can tell you to do is breathe, and keep breathing, for as long as you can, and all I can do is promise you I’ll do the same.  Flawed or not, we'll make it through.

Sincerely yours, 

Maya Granger