Dear Me (Before Things Got Bad),

Remember your junior year of high school? How you went to a football game every single Friday and stood in the front row of the pep section, screaming as loud as you could? Remember all those massive sleepovers you had, with 5 of your friends, all scrunched together in that tiny bed? You lived for parties and bonfires. You could talk on the phone with anyone for hours. I miss that so girl so much.

Sometimes, I look at pictures from back then. You were always surrounded by friends. Sometimes, (a lot of the time) you were doing some embarrassing dance. Your outfits were usually some ridiculous combination of neon and knee socks. You genuinely did not care what people thought of you. You just did, said, and wore what made you happy.

I wish I could do that again. I’ve only been to one football game in college, and it was with my mom. The thought of being around people terrifies me. What if I don’t know what to say? What if they think I’m weird? Will they expect me to talk the whole time? What if they’re just inviting to be polite and actually hate me? I consider going alone, but decide that would just make me look weird, so I stay home, pretending like I don’t care, when inside I’m dying to be there.

I tell people that my idea of fun is sitting at home watching Netflix, and in a way, it is. Even you were an introvert. After days of being out with friends, you needed to come home and spend some time alone to recharge, but it’s different now. I want to go out. I want to do things, but a thousand “What if’s” keep me locked in my room. I miss singing. For some reason, every day of junior year, you and your friends gathered around your locker and sang Complicated by Avril Lavigne. We really thought it described the teen angst we were going through. Now, I can’t even bring myself to sing the car.

One of the saddest things is that new people don’t even know that you existed. They assume I’ve always been a shy, awkward person. I wish I could tell them about you. I wish they knew that I used to dance on table tops and talk to strangers. I wish they knew that I loved to play games and be the center of attention.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get you back. I don’t know if my anxiety will ever get better, and if it does, if I’ll be exactly the same person I used to be. Probably not. Nobody is exactly the same person, their whole lives and that’s a good thing, but I’d be lying if I said I was happy with the person I am now. People say I should just embrace who I am now, that there’s nothing negative about being shy and quiet. They’re right; there isn’t. A lot of my friends are really quiet, and they’re the best people I know. The problem is that I don’t want to be quiet. I have so much to say, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I constantly feel like I’m in prison in my own body.

To the person I was before my anxiety, I’m sorry I took you and your love for life for granted. I’m trying so hard to get you back. I only hope it’s not too late.