Dear unsealers,
This is the story of a shattered soul that was shaped into one of the strongest soldiers. We all hit rock bottom at some point in our life but very few of us hit rock bottom so many times that it becomes your comfort zone. At one point I literally felt like I had become God’s biggest challenge. I completely had faith that he could fix me and eventually he would but even God himself wasn’t sure how. My journey has been a lot of things but easy is not one of them. Little did I know that it was all to make me and not break me but that was hard to see at the time. I remember feeling like the universe was literally against me and the only purpose I had was to not have a purpose. There were several times that I honestly came very close to giving up but with the help of the Lord I did not throw in the towel completely. To be honest I still battle every day even up to this point but I’ll keep on fighting because I have faith that God has a plan for me and it is working perfectly. That is a very short summary of my story. Trust me there is a lot more to it but that’s my story with 800 words or less. Thank you

I see you sitting there on the deck hugging your knees, a blanket around your shoulders. I see you chain smoking, your mascara running down your face in a river of tears, your hands shaking and your headaches.
The police have left, your parents have left, you are home from the hospital. He’s in jail, at least for the night. Alone on the deck, your babies are asleep in their beds. You wonder how much this will affect them. Will they remember? They are so young; what will you tell them? As you bury your head in your hands, I can see your too-thin body shaking with fear, with anxiety, doubts swirling around in your mind like so many black clouds. As with so many nights before, you will not sleep tonight.
I am sitting beside you, even though you can’t feel me or see me. My arms are around you and I am whispering strength and love into your ear. Please know that you didn’t bring abuse on yourself. The cruel words and bruises you carefully cover with makeup are the work of someone who has deep wounds himself. Your husband who speaks love out of the same mouth that calls you vile names, whose hands hold you tenderly and then viciously strike you, tossing your body like a rag doll is responsible. You both bear scars from childhood trauma, from parents who love you in their best yet broken way. Forgive them; you all have a long way to go before this chapter is over.
Tomorrow you will go to file a restraining order; he will be served with papers before he is released. You will go to court, the order will be granted, and you will not look at him again for a year. Take a deep breath; you will find the courage to get through this. People will watch you, not knowing how to help. Their generation was one that kept this kind of thing secret. Your friends will offer prayers on your behalf, but not one will speak the supportive words you long to hear, nor will they offer a safe place to rest. Please don’t take this as not loving you, they do.
The two of you will divorce and raise your children together in a loving and supportive way. Your children will know the love of a bonus mom; she’s amazing. You will have no regrets, many experiences, and understand that healing is a lifelong journey.
Dry your tears, get some rest. Allow yourself to have a happy life; know that you are not only good enough, but you are also amazing.

Dear Me from 4 years ago,

I know you weren’t thinking about winning the election. You weren’t a good enough candidate, and you had no experience. At least that’s how you saw the race. And your political party had not held a seat on the township board for years; correction, make that decades. In fact, they normally did not even run candidates for those township positions. Yes, I can see why you didn’t think enough of yourself to unseat an incumbent from the board.

Getting on the ballot was easier than you thought. You had the support from members of a local women’s group who helped get the 250 signatures you needed. But you knew getting your name on a ballot and winning a race against incumbents are two very different things. In your mind, you cast yourself as the underdog, and perhaps you were.

You ordered campaign literature and yard signs. Facebook posts and ads explained your views and positions. That was the simple part of the campaign. You wondered if you were good enough to hold your own at the candidate’s public forum. It was a good sign when opponents started agreeing with some of your talking points by the end of the forum.

Your confidence was growing until you tried to get an endorsement from a US House member. She told you in no uncertain terms that you were not running a serious enough campaign. Sorry, but she wouldn’t endorse you. I know that hurt, but it also steeled your resolve. You were no longer just running against some incumbent township board candidates, but you were running against the opinion of a sitting US Congresswoman who didn’t think your campaign effort was enough. You responded by working harder and smarter.

Sadly, it turned out that your campaign actually wasn’t good enough to get the most votes. You were not even close. You didn’t finish in second either. So close to third, but you fell short. Fortunately, four members serve on the board, and you finished comfortably fourth in the voting. Welcome to an elected office.

Here we are four years later, and you are now me, starting my second term in office on the township board after receiving the most votes of all candidates in the election two months ago. Discussions have begun about running for a county board position in 2028. Do I have enough in me to win? I think I just might this time.

Regards,
Me from today

Dear Fifteen-Year-Old Me,
In response to the permission slip you asked me to sign a few days ago:

There was a time you’d come home from school, grab a few popsicles, and run over to the neighbor girl’s house to ask her to play. The two of you would ask your older brother to join you, and the three of you would start a game tag. Soon enough, a few of the older neighborhood kids would join and the game grew. Everyone would run around hiding, trying not to get tagged. Eventually, the sun would start to set and everyone’s parents slowly called them back inside. You were always a little sad, but also a little happy because that meant it was time for dinner. Dinner was your favorite meal, and I know you can hardly imagine it now, but your favorite part of dinner was that dessert was right after. 

You and the neighbor girl were best friends for a long time, til’ she moved away. You used to sit out by the pool and talk about your future with her, mainly just your hopes and dreams, but at seven years old all you had was hopes and dreams. It was beautiful. You wanted to be the first female president, an Olympic athlete, a writer, a good friend, and a scientist. You also shared what you didn’t want. You didn’t want to take orders from adults or perfectly follow every rule. You never wanted to be asked to talk less or be quieter again; you told your friend you would never be silent when you had so much to say.

Do you remember any of this? Can you even remember who you were before you let others tell you who to be?

You’re fifteen now. Fifteen and hungry. Fifteen and cold. Fifteen and lost. Your dream of being President died when you decided you value being agreeable over being courageous. You aren’t chasing being an Olympian anymore, or an athlete at all really, considering you’re reading this from some hospital bed in the eating disorders unit at some children’s hospital in some city you’ve never seen before. You still write, but now it’s in a journal you show a psychiatrist once a week. You try, but it’s hard to be a good friend right now. You don’t believe you are smart enough to pursue science so you quit. 

Ironically, your life is dictated by self-imposed rules and orders from adults. Your rules tell you all the things you aren’t allowed to eat, say, or do. The orders usually tell you the opposite. You’ve silenced yourself since you still believe you are inherently not enough and that you have nothing worth saying anymore. 

Here’s the thing kiddo: I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is as bad as things are right now, they get worse. You will betray yourself so many times you can no longer trust your own thoughts and feelings. You will betray the little girl playing tag so many times that you believe she is gone forever. You will betray yourself so deeply you will ask me if you can leave this world because you do not feel worthy of the breaths you take. 

The good news is, that as bad things get, that is also how good they get. You find people within the lines of memoirs, the hallways of hospitals, and old friends in your contact list that help you reconnect with yourself. You will eventually trust yourself again. You find out that the little girl you betrayed is waiting for you, arms wide open, ready to forgive you. While you aren’t chasing a Presidency or the Olympics, you do study science in college and start playing sports again. You prioritize being a good friend always and once you find your voice again, you use it to talk about the things that matter most to you. And most importantly, you find your worth.

So, fifteen-year-old me, I say this with love when I tell you I will not sign your permission slip asking me if you can leave this world because I’ve seen how bright your future is. I’ve seen the love you give and receive. I’ve seen the beaches you visit, the mistakes you make, the hearts you break, the lives you save, the cats you pet, the parking tickets you collect, the awards you earn, and all the millions of ways you realize you are absolutely, innately, enough. 

With love and courage always,
Twenty-Year-Old You.

Dear Lowercase ‘a’,
Ive been there through all your struggles, all your tears and frustrations.
Ive sat through your lonely nights, your low’s and your high’s.
I’ve seen you go completely unseen, unheard and misunderstood.
as I stand here now I want you to know you were never TOO MUCH, TOO LOUD OR NOT ENOUGH.
You were simply undiagnosed.
As I look back now I want to give you this advice…
Don’t hold hate in your heart for love ones who may have seemed inconsiderate to your feelings, its not their fault. Moments that triggered you and your reactions may have came off as tantrums to those who didnt understand that you weren’t throwing a fit you simply had emotions you didnt understand and could not find a way to express so the lack of regulation caused explosions of panic and fits of rage. But know that your lack of understanding and their lack of knowing never meant you weren’t loved.
I want you to know that feeling emotions at such intense levels is just as much of a blessing as it is the curse you always hated.
I want you to believe that no matter how much you feel like death is the only way to get rid of pain and relieve others of the burden of you that there is always tomorrow and if you can get out of your disassociation then you will see that when you smile and laugh others are like moths drawn to your flame.
You cant let others define you and have control over your moods, thats you power and you need to protect it at all cost but that doesn’t mean you should shut the world out and not allow someone to let you smile.
The world is not black and white and you are going to have to work harder than most people but I promise you if you learn to find that grey area your going to be a force to reckon with.
Your passion, your love, kindness, and heart will shine through any negative moments you may have, I know its hard and it sounds cliché but trust me.
You have many hardships ahead of you. Heartbreaks will come more often then you like but I promise you keep your head up and take in each lesson because it will lead you in the arms of the most kindest sweetest patient and Loving man you will ever meet and you deserve that, Lowercase all I ask is that maybe you go a little easier on him because he will heal all the scars from your past but you have to remember he didnt cause the pain you cant lash out at him because your exs hurt you, hes not them I promise you… but when you do lash out and go to push him away because trust me you will I know this; he is going to surprise you with staying. He is going to fight this battle with you- that you’ll soon find out is BPD, when youre diagnosed at the age of 23, and when times get hard he will hold you tighter than youve ever been held and love you in ways you’ve never been loved, so take it easy on him.
May you continue to grow and work on yourself because BPD is not an excuse it is an explanation for certain behaviors but it is up to you to stay alert work on yourself and find ways to be better for yourself and others.
It wont be easy and somedays will be a struggle but the effort is all that matters, you can choose to be a fighter or a victim and you have been a victim your whole life due to lack of diagnosis and knowledge so now that we have both those things its time to be a fighter. We got this ‘a’.
We are in this journey together, this is my attempt at healing you Lowercase ‘a’.
I promise you life is beautiful once you let go of all the hurt and anger, youre validated on how you feel but now its time to let go, all the things that they did to you speaks to their character not yours… so it’s time to take back your power and let it all go.
There’s a whole life out there waiting on us to live it, let go of the past and come with me… I wont go forward with out you, work on yourself, let yourself heal and when youre ready I will be here to move forward to our future.
Forever you,
Love Uppercase ‘A’

Dear Unsealed,
Dear Vicki.
My version of myself was always to strive for the best.
As I used to feel I was left behind by the rest
So, I would strive to write and be good
Just like I thought I should
My younger brother was always trying to be the king
As I walk around the house singing
I attended nursing school
And I found out that it was cool
Learning about medicine and our bodies
I still felt like nobody
I then attended business school
To not be a fool
Flunked marketing class
Writing a thesis on shopping at thrift stores
For name brand clothes for less
My thesis was 10 pages long
My heart and soul bore
The truth
But my marketing professor said I was uncouth
And the thesis was supposed to be about expensive stores
And the better clothes to be found at a higher price
Of indulging into capitalism of the rich
A stitch
In time
I switched
To journalism
As an ism
Of fun
In the sun
Then I still wanted to study more
So not to be a bore
I learned makeup artistry
To work in the film industry
Then I studied graphic design
On the first MAC in its time
Then I was not satisfied with just that
So, I sat
In computer classes for years
With blood, sweat, and tears
Working in all my fields at once
Multi-tasking a bunch
I still felt like I wanted more
To not be bored
I now write
I now create art
I now try to bite the bullet
At 75
Of peace, truth, love, and understanding of life.
Still fighting with my younger brother
In love with the Heritage Foundation and all those fools
And their short male tools
Of huge egos and lies
Not enough was my attempt to fulfill my dreams in Hollywood
I have done so much 24/7
Now I’m tired of all that arguing with my brother
We took different paths in life
At 75 I still write about life and strife
Honesty and equality for all
So, the decision is made in the shade
Of my golden years
Of laughter and tears
Art is life
Life is art
My brother with all his religious degrees
Finally admitted he knew about religion
But not medicine
As all the laws from his precious heritage foundation
Are passed to kill healthcare and all that medicine holds true
I love my brother as a human being in his own light
Not to create a negative light
Upon this prose of sheer delight
As play with my toys and live in lollipop land
Of cookies and creams in those land
Of dreams that never stop
My dreams spit them out
As I sleep at night
Despite fighting or flight
My fight for justice
Is still in flight to fight again
Never enough!
Or is it?
It is enough to continue my fight for justice, equality, understanding, and love as a humanitarian.
I asked Microsoft Copilot about this letter.
“This document is a heartfelt letter addressed to a past version of oneself, expressing feelings of inadequacy and the journey of personal growth over time.
• Struggles with Self-Worth: The author reflects on their feelings of not being enough despite pursuing various educational paths and careers, including nursing, business, and journalism. They recount experiences that contributed to their sense of inadequacy, such as failing a marketing class and feeling overlooked in their pursuits. 1 2
• Embracing Art and Activism: As the author aged, they found solace in writing, creating art, and advocating for justice and equality. They acknowledge their ongoing struggles, particularly with family dynamics, but ultimately declare their commitment to fighting for humanitarian causes.”
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allow me to wrap you in tailored wool,
sympathy soft against your tiny neck,
buttons gleaming with the understanding
of time and distance, and seams reinforced
by threads spun in defiance to self-pity.

Wear your resilience proudly, its woad-dyed blue
a calm stretch of sea amid the turbulence
of childhood when icy raindrops snaked
along your skin, under your clothes,
cryobranding your tenderness with filth.

Slide your hands deep into the open slant
of pockets lined with food coupons—
brown, purple, and green printed paper
staining fingers the rainbow of poverty—
and revel in the warmth this temporary tattoo brings

feel the cuffs migrate slowly up your forearm,
exposing secondhand-stained wrists to nature,
sun, wind, and rain neutralizing the eau de ashtray film
that’s suffocated every ivory pore since birth—
inhale the quintessential scent of bare self

as buttons strain against velvet butterfly wings
emerging from an amoxicillin-induced cocoon,
their flutter a rush of purpose and determination—
heat that radiates from navel to heart to mind,
incinerating any further need for outerwear

and when your molten eruptions kiss the froth,
igneous islands take shape, grow, flourish—
a spectacular view mirrored in tranquil seas
that flash with supersaturated horizon messages
letting you know, future to past, you’ve always been enough.

Style Score 100%