Uh, sorry, crud.

It’s an apology to my current and future self.


I am so sorry for the screw-ups I’ve made and I really will try my best to be better, but hope you don’t look back and think, I wish I wasn’t who I was, because that’d be rejecting the current me, yes?


I don’t know what my mistakes will do to you in the future, and honestly, I’d rather not know. I think that I’m the type of person who has the ability, but denies that fact, and in end, is useless. I’m really, really sorry and if it makes you feel any better, I feel like a bag of crap too.

I hope you’re not judged terribly, or if you are, you’ve learned to tell friend from foe, because until a while ago, I couldn’t.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

I don’t know how many rivers of tears or sleepless nights would be enough to make up for my mistakes, but no matter what happens, please don’t give up. That would be the one I’d like to ask of you…no matter how few people (if any) are by your side or if even your parents don’t believe in you anymore, please don’t leave.

Perhaps I don’t have the right to write you a letter, perhaps I am just as pathetic you remember yourself to to have been. Please, please, don’t go. Not for the sake of honor or family, but for yourself, and I hope, with a heavy heart, that in the far future, you have someone to hold you close and stay by you when you cry.

Or even if you’re alone, all by yourself in this big, scary world, remember us, at 4 years old, 10 years old, right now… even if you are alone and the world is your enemy, please fight on.

Do you hate me? Perhaps not entirely, for I don’t doubt that a part of you understands that you would be different if I had taken different routes, different choices. Did you wish I was different? Are you more disappointed in yourself, or better, me? I do not doubt that you would be disappointed, as I’ve been disappointed with myself for as long as I can remember.

Don’t forget: you are not living in a world of fiction. There will be no aiding characters along the way, nor will there be a grand prize at the end of the road. (I once read that it is never really quite “The End,” but more of “The And.”)

But does someone remember you? Have you risen from my ashes and successfully carved your name in history, or have you become a mere fleeting memory in the minds of others?

Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?

Or are you just as sorry as I am right now?


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