Dear Younger Me,
When I was your age, I told myself I was afraid of the dark. I slept with Mom until an age some might find “too old,” but I never really liked being alone, so why force myself? Dance Academy would play, and I’d drift off beside her, feeling the comfort of my glasses slipping off my face as I dozed. Eventually, I got used to doing it on my own. I’d take off my glasses and watch TV until my eyes grew heavy. The images were always blurry, but that never mattered—it was the comfort, the sounds that lulled me to sleep.
As I got older, I realized it wasn’t the dark I feared, but the silence. I couldn’t just sit with my thoughts, so I played music each night, letting it fill the quiet until my mind faded into sleep.
When I turned 16, I wanted more space and moved into the basement. I was thrilled to set it up like my own little apartment. “Will you be able to sleep all the way down there alone?” Mom asked, a little worried. But quarantine had changed me. I had grown comfortable with myself and even welcomed the silence darkness could bring.
Weeks passed as we finished setting up my room. Once we put the bed in, I stayed there alone all night—but then I’d return to sleep between my mom’s and grandma’s rooms. “When are you moving down?” Grandma would ask, and I’d say, “I’m just waiting until I set it up exactly how I want.” To everyone else, it might have seemed like nerves, but I knew I’d get there.
And I was right. I finished setting up the room and began sleeping down there just fine. Occasionally, the shadows would deceive me, forming images that dissipated as the lights faded, but I eventually grew accustomed to this. I wasn’t afraid anymore.
At the age of 17, I discovered that I had Type 2 diabetes. Type 2. The explanation, “Your blood sugar is too high,” didn’t seem like something a “normal” 17-year-old should be dealing with, and it made me feel like I was at fault. You need to change your diet.” The news hit hard, and I retreated into myself, looking for anything that would distract my mind. 
That’s when I started reading—book after book, writing reviews, marking my favorite parts. I read so much that I decided to write my own story. I always heard that I was good at it, so it felt natural. I wrote as an escape, just letting the words flow without overthinking. 
I haven’t finished the book yet, but it has led me to a life I never expected but am grateful for. I want to be a writer because it’s something I can control. There was always something that made me feel powerless and afraid, but writing let me create worlds, characters, and stories that follow the rules I set. In a world where so much is unpredictable, writing felt like a steady ground beneath me. I decide how things begin, how they end, and everything that happens in between. So I wrote Darker in the Shadows for you, the girl who just wanted to not feel out of control—a story dedicated to the version of me who turned the darkness into a sanctuary, a place to grow and thrive.
With love, 
-A