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Letter to the Girl in 2015...

A year doesn’t seem like a long time. It isn’t, in the grand scheme of things; years come and go and by the end of one and the beginning of another you don’t feel like you’ve changed so much in the past 365 days. So it’s strange to look back at the person I was in October of 2015 and realize that there are too many differences between us to count. (It’s even stranger and more wonderful to realize that that’s a good thing.)

There are lots of things I would tell Aimee of October 2015 if I could.

I would tell her that her words are important. I would tell her that the story she’s writing at the moment — the one she’s already been working on for two years — is going to turn out to be beautiful. That she’s going to look at the people flailing over it and realize that she kind of loves this thing she’s poured her heart into. I wish she could know right then how much it’s teaching her. I wish she could know what she’s creating because right there, in 2015, she doesn’t realize it. I would tell her that keeping at it is valuable; that when you love something, when you really love it, you’re not always going to enjoy it in the moment, but it’s worth investing your time. It’s worth it a thousand times over.

I would tell her that people care about her. That her feelings in the moment do not define the truth, that they aren’t what’s real, that depression and anxiety are monsters that hide in your head and whisper lies in your ear and you are the one who can choose to stop listening. I would tell her that she’s loved.

(That’s 2015 Aimee. She’s an emo kid, isn’t she? Too precious.)

I want to tell her that she’s capable. That she’s smart. That when she sets her mind to something, she can do it. She’s capable of more than she thinks she is, and she can do amazing things. I would tell her that it’s okay to be messy. To not be perfect. You don’t have to have 100% of your life together all the time, and that life doesn’t have to be internet-ready and aesthetically pleasing. You are a work in progress, and messy isn’t something that needs to be romanticized to be okay — it’s the truth of life, and it has to be okay​.

I would tell her that things get better.

That life gets easier.

That her brain gets healthier.

That friends are always there.

I would tell her to breathe, in and out, and remember the world she lives in, and I would tell her to keep going no matter what, because life is imperfect and hard and it hurts and it’s beautiful, and she can make a difference.

Keep going. You are you and being you is beautiful.

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