Letter to Myself at Fifteen

You're not going to believe this, but the thing that's breaking you right now won't matter in three years. I know. I know it feels like the only thing. I know the hallway feels a hundred miles long and the lunchroom feels like a courtroom and your bedroom is the only country where the laws make sense. Here is what I know from where I'm standing: The friends you're afraid of losing— some you'll lose. Some you'll choose to lose. And the ones who stay will be the ones who loved the version of you that you haven't met yet. The person you have a crush on will become a funny story you tell at dinner parties. I promise. Even the crying part. Especially the crying part. Your body is not your enemy. I know it feels like it. I know the mirror lies to you daily in a language only you can hear. But your body is the vehicle that's going to carry you to the best day of your life and it deserves better passengers than your cruelest thoughts. You don't have to figure it out yet. That's the secret nobody tells you: most adults haven't figured it out either. They're just taller. Keep the journal. Keep the music. Keep the weird thing about you that you think makes you strange— it's the thing that will make you irreplaceable. I know you don't believe me. You don't have to. Just don't quit. The world gets bigger. I swear.