Hey y’all!
I hope everyone’s doing well and staying safe! Obviously things are... well... pretty crazy right now. Thankfully everyone in my family is safe for now—though I am getting pretty tired of not leaving the house.
Today’s a pretty special day. Some of y’all know this... but I haven’t talked as much about it this year as usual, because the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal, ya know? So, for those who aren’t aware: today’s my 10-year diaversary.
Normally, I’d do something to celebrate—go out for dinner, maybe, or get ice cream with friends. But this year even my family has forgotten about it, and I don’t really want to remind them. We can’t do much to celebrate because we can’t leave the house. In a lot of ways, it’s just easier to let them forget. So I’m letting my emotions happen and trying to act like it’s a normal day. But it’s not; it’s really really really not.
I’m feeling a whole lot of things, as I usually do on this day every year. Lots of triumph, I think, because surviving a year with this condition is definitely something to be proud of, especially right now. And pain, of course, because I’m remembering things that I usually try not to remember. There’s so much I wish I could say to my 7-year-old self, that terrified little kid who couldn’t handle shots and had never slept in a hospital bed. So since I’m stuck at home with all my feelings and not much else, I decided to write it all out.
Dear me,
I know right now you’re more scared than you’ve ever been in your life, and probably more scared than you will ever be. And I know if you understood everything that was happening to you, you would be so much more scared. So hold on to that innocence with everything you have.
I know today was the first time you saw your mom cry. Whatever you do, don’t let yourself believe that it’s your fault. She’s strong, and so are you. You can’t internalize her pain right now. You’ve got your own to work through.
I know you’re keeping your pain inside right now. That’s so hard, but it does get easier. You’ll get used to holding back the tears until no one else can see. For now, don’t be too hard on yourself when you break down. Believe it or not, you’ll get used to that too.
I know the amount of information you’ve been given today is overwhelming. It’s ok if you can’t take it all in right now. Listen to the doctors as much as you can, but when it gets to be too much, it’s ok to tune it out. You’ll learn it quickly enough once you get home. For now, savor the not knowing.
I know you’re angry. So, so angry. But try to be kind to the people around you. This isn’t their fault, any more than it’s yours. There’s no one to blame for this, and that’s ok.
I know you’re trying to cling to your old life. At some point, you’re gonna realize things will never go back to normal. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to adjust to your new normal. Don’t be scared to let go of the past.
And I know, more than anything, you’re afraid of the future. Don’t be. Things can only get better from here. You will be ok. We will be ok. Keep breathing, keep moving even when it feels like you can’t. You’re gonna get through this. It will change you—that’s ok. Let it. It will make you a better person and more than that, it’ll allow you to help others in a way you never could otherwise. Use this pain, let it shape you, let it become a part of you. You’ll be better for it.
Love, always and forever,
Abby
