To the girl in the oversized Fall Out Boy t-shirt:
Right now, you're afraid to trade in your glasses for contacts because you've never seen a clear reflection of yourself without them. When you finally do put away those wiry pink frames, you'll discover the joys of sunglasses, and that it's easier to look people in the eyes because you don't feel like you're hiding behind windows anymore.
Right now, your hands shake when you talk to strangers. You'll learn to slip them into your pockets. Sometimes, it feels like your skin is too thin, like the best possible place for you to be is locked away in your room. You stand on the edge of everything, hoping no one will notice you. This problem doesn't go away all together; instead, you'll take small steps. A year or two from now, you'll go to those parties, but you'll sit outside in your car for 20 minutes trying to shake the nerves. In four years, although your voice still trembles sometimes, you won't need to put your hands in your pockets.
Right now, you cover your mouth with your hand when you laugh. You don't dare to open your mouth for pictures because you are scared to expose the teeth that braces can't even straighten. You wear baggy shirts and the same two pairs of jeans, not because it's what you want to wear, but because you think all other clothes make you look fat. You look at the ground when you speak in front of the class because you don't want people to look at your face. You won't believe the girl in biology class who said you have pretty hair because you think she just feels bad for you. You slouch because you're taller than most boys in the 9th grade, and you think you're a freak because of it. You hate yourself so much that you don't think you'll ever be loved.
Right now, when your teachers ask you where you see yourself in four years, you don't see yourself at all. You can barely see who you are now. When they say "tell me about yourself", you stare at a blank page. You don't think you're good at anything. You say you love softball, even though you haven't touched a bat in over a year. You say you want to be an artist, even though you're fifth grade teacher scoffed and said that art is not a career, it's a hobby. You haven't picked up your sketchbook for years. You beg your mother not to sign you up for band because you think it will make you stick out too much, it's social suicide. She won't let you be a nobody.
Oh, but there's so much you don't know, and I wish that you did because I know that the next four years will be the most grueling years of your life.
What you don't know is that your mother signing you up for band was the best thing she could do for you. You'll finally find a place where people are not looking at you, but rather, they're listening to you. You'll pick up your sketchbook again, not because you want to make a career out of it, but because it was something you were good at. Music and art will quiet your restless mind.
What you don't know is that "the future" will always be something you're forced to think about, and that it only becomes blurrier. But you won't let that frighten you, you'll let that inspire you. You will make it to graduation and you'll make it to college, and you still won't know exactly what you're going to do with your life, and that's okay. You'll realize that you're not meant to have all of the answers.
What you don't know is that the phrase "body positivity" will always make you flinch. In about a year from now, you'll start running more and eating less. When you pass out in your living room, you'll tell your mother you just got up too fast. Food becomes more complex than it has to be. You never see progress even though your mother begs you to just eat something. When you trade in your baggy clothes for fitted tees, and when boys say you have a nice ass (which will really, really piss you off), you won't be grateful, you'll think "you won't believe what I had to do to get here". You'll do things you aren't proud of, but all of that will make you stronger. Four years from now, you'll run because it's fun for you, not because you're running away from your chubby freshman self. You'll understand that you won't be petite because it's genetically impossible for you, and you'll still hate that, but you'll ignore your demons no matter how close they get.
What you don't know is that you will actually fall in and out of love. You'll fall for the boy who does not love you the same. You will be impossibly soft for him, green eyes and all, but over the course of a year he will harden you. You'll fall for the boy who sits alone at the back of the bus, who smiles at you when you sit in the seat in front of him. Four years from know, you'll fall in love with a different boy, your best friend, and even though you always preferred green eyes, his brown eyes are your favorite color now. He will pull your hand away from your mouth when you laugh because he loves your crooked teeth. This is real love.
What you don't know is that you're going to fall in love with your friends and family. You'll have people who find your shaking hands and voice charming. You'll be grateful for these people because they pulled you out of the tunnel you dug yourself into. They are your foundation. They have been strong for you, and weak for you. They listened to you. They were irrationally kind to you. It’s not just that you wouldn’t be here without them; you wouldn’t be alive without them. You'll never let them go.
So, I am sorry that you are in a bad place. When I think about you, and the things you are about to face, my heart aches. But these things are necessary because four years from now, you'll be a better person for it.
Keep your chin up,
The girl in the same oversized Fall Out Boy t-shirt
