Dear Self,
Congratulations. You are twenty-two. You are six years older than your big brother, and four years past your stated life expectancy. Be happy.
In the last year you have made some stupid, stupid choices. You enabled an alcoholic. You let people who weren't doctors prescribe you medication. You stuck around a bad situation way longer than you should have.
You also got out. You packed a suitcase and moved cross-country in an act of either ultimate guts or ultimate stupidity (pick one). You stopped biting your nails, which means you're either less nervous or just better at hiding it.
And you didn't do it alone. You made amazing friends who refused to let you ignore that something was Very Wrong, and who put everything they could into getting you out of that mess. You owe them a lot and you better not goddamn forget it.
What I Learned This Year that I Need to Remember:
1. When the alarm bells are ringing in your head, listen to them. And if you are desensitized to the sound of air raid sirens, then listen to your friends when they tell you the bomb's about to drop.
2. Antidepressants that weren't prescribed for you by a doctor are bad. Xanax that wasn't prescribed for you by a doctor is worse.
3. Stop being scared. Be direct. Don't mess around. The world will forgive you if you're just honest. (Unless, of course, you are Crazy Email Guy).
What I Hope to Learn in the Coming Year:
1. Something, anything, about how social interaction is supposed to work.
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