Hello Little Drem,
You are about 10.
Right now you are still living at home. You don’t want to be. But don’t worry, by 15 you’ll be long gone and on your own. You’ll end up at Grandma’s house and she loves you.
Your aunt, who was your 2nd mother, died. You didn’t believe death happened to good people. Or that death was even real. Little Drem, death is not real. She is still with you. You just can’t see her soul right now.
9/11 happened. Your childhood is long dead. You can smell the ashes of your friends’ parents on your father’s work gear. You mother washes them and breaks the washing machine. Now the basement is haunted.
You’re writing, Little Drem. You are making websites. You are still self-teaching yourself basic coding.
Your father has gotten into the habit of telling you how fat and ugly you are. How worthless. And this gets worse and worse. Little Drem, you are not fat nor ugly. In fact, I have seen pictures of you and you were a healthy weight. There is something called Schizoaffective disorder. You were, unfortunately, being affected by a man who is mentally ill and causing you great emotional harm. In turn, you internalized that hate for yourself and that lead you down a bad path of self-hate that echoes on today.
Right around now is when you start self-harming and thinking bad thoughts. He says no one will ever love you. And maybe he is right. So far no one really does. At least, not fully. Not really. You’re still just as sick. And thus, worth less. And now, due to illness, you actually are called “fat” as a descriptive adjective and it’s not a lie. For years this will go on, Little Drem. But now you are proud of your scars. Because it means you’ve lived. Still, it’s an addiction and one you don’t care to give up fully. At least, not all the time.
Your brain is eating itself away. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree from inflammation. Black holes are next. Your trajectory isn’t good. My Little Drem, you’ve become even more sick than you were back then. And I know that’s hard to believe.
You may read this and think it’s truly not worth living. You’re broke. Sick. With a poor trajectory. I bring not such great news.
One good thing is you have a cat that really loves you. And you still write. You have been published many times. People think you’re smart. You are still a little smart 😛
Little Drem, I love you. I might not love the me right now all the time, but I love you back then. Because you DID NOT deserve to be treated the way you were. You shouldn’t have been abused the way you were- physically, emotionally, etc. Unspeakable things were done to you. Things you still don’t speak about.
You deserve better. And you deserve better now. Maybe tomorrow will be better. But I don’t know. It’s almost the New Year. You did so well all things considered!
You still keep going. And for that I am proud of the Little you and the Big me.
And, of all things, you’re healing.