Dear Future Self,
When life labels you “mentally ill” (and your DNA seems to agree), the future is always a gamble. I could be back in the hospital. Or worse. No, not worse. Worse is not an option.
For the first time, I finally feel like the sun is coming out. And that means a future I can look forward to. I have my boyfriend. Some would say my relationship track record isn’t exactly stellar, but I could see a future with this man. We’ve been dating for a year; I’m not proposing marriage tomorrow. But I could be open to the idea that someone, someone with a stable job and not a drug addiction could love me. I have a habit of settling. When I think of the future, I don’t want that to be my MO. I don’t want to settle anymore. By now, I think I have accepted the fact that I should not have biological children. First of all, OCD and bipolar disorder are hereditary. I don’t want to pass my pain on. Second of all, I can’t possibly go off my meds during my pregnancy and I don’t want a baby born with birth defects because I was too selfish to give up a childhood dream. Adoption is a feasible option. So far many babies need good homes. Maybe I could provide it one day.
In the future, I see you as a published writer with plenty of titles to your name. I see a girl, pausing by the window of Barnes and Nobles because the new Catherine Moscatt book is out. I see book signings and a movie deal. But I do it for more than the accolades. I write because it's therapeutic. I write through my pain: the pain of losing a friend I will never get back, and having to leave college because I was so sick. That is going to be all wrapped up in a bow in the book Story of Hope. I will have my agent on speed dial. We will go out to lunch every Friday (sushi, naturally) and she will tell me how brilliant I am. Somebody’s got to.
In the future, I have a secure relationship with God. You know, that guy in the sky that feels far away sometimes. That guy I prayed to in the hospital, when my wrists were bleeding and they had isolated me from all my family and friends. I want to look at a sunset and know he is looking down on me. The future is small, compared to what lies beyond it. I guess that’s the future too.
In the future, I want to manage my disorders better. I will go back to therapy to cope with my OCD. I hate exposure therapy (it’s definitely not on my list of fun things to do) but I’ll do it if it means fewer compulsions. I want to be on less medication. I’m currently on eight- a cocktail of meds from mood stabilizers to antipsychotics to anti-anxiety. I’m a walking pharmacy. I don’t envision a future where I will ever be completely without medication (I just don’t think that’s likely) but maybe I can lose the Benzos, lose the excess weight, and feel like myself again. I want to have energy, not like I’m currently running on low battery.
In the future, there will be hope. It won’t just be the title of my next book. It will be tangible. I will live my life according to it and in midst of the darkness I’ll be able to find it. There won’t be phone calls at midnight or rushes to the ER to get evaluated. No one will watch me while I shower or go to the bathroom. I know “normal” doesn’t exist but someday I will live a relatively normal life.
Leigh, in the future, I want you to know what a beautiful person, friend, and overall human you are. I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore. The scars have faded; there will be no more. That dark place is only an illusion. It should never dictate your actions. And you’ve come so far in your sobriety (6 ½ years!) that I’m proud of you. Finally, you can’t go chasing after people who don’t deserve you. People don’t always stay in your life and it’s beneath you to beg them to. Losing a friend is tantamount to the sharpest pain but it’s better than having a friend who doesn’t even want to be there in the first place. Just a dose of wisdom to take with you into the future. Remember, it’s determined by you. Not your OCD, not your bipolar disorder. Your future is determined by you.
Love,
Leigh
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