Day 24 – Play
by Zoeyjane
Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs.
No. I already did that, sort of. Instead, hopping back on the #tweetyour16yearoldself and taking inspiration from the song “Everyone’s Free (to wear sunscreen)”, I’m sermonizing to me, 13 years ago.
That boy that you think you love? You don’t. And that doesn’t make it matter that he loves you.
Stop drinking in the student lounge and go to school. Even if it is boring. Even if you want to disappear.
Don’t stop not talking to your father. Letting him back in will almost only give you eight years of further emotional abuse, and at the end of it, you will have to watch him die without a trace of guilt.
You should probably consider some form of medication. And therapy. To prevent later from happening and it becoming your identity.
You’re not meant to have a baby now, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t. And this miscarriage was what was supposed to happen. As will be the following ones.
That being said, double up on birth control, dummy.
Don’t question why pretty girls like to kiss you. Just go with it.
Sing out loud, strong and in harmony. The 1997 version of hipsters will appreciate your addition to Creep.
Finish writing. Even if it’s not good enough. Finish it. It will torture you for the next 14 years, at least – the thought that you’re not a writer, because you can’t finish a damn story.
Don’t walk away from your siblings. They need you.
Accept that you’re an adult, in a 16 year old body; be a kid when you can.
You do not need makeup and you aren’t fat.
Stop smoking now, for good.
Hiding a mickey of vodka in a toilet tank isn’t genius. It’s sad.
This last half-assed suicide attempt won’t bring you anything but disdain from the people who end up knowing about it. It will be as if you’re the girl who cried self-hatred while running away from home because her parents grounded her.
You can create change. Start.
You have an affinity in certain subjects for a reason. Nurture them. Sew, write, photograph, balance equations, solve for x, find patterns, counsel, speak French, read, sing, dance, unearth.
Sex is fun, yes. But it’s not what you’re loved for.
There is no timeline.
You will still have red hair nearly two decades later. Dying it now won’t cover that fact.
Let yourself love, and accept love.
The colour red, despite the red hair, will look foxy on you. Don’t wear it like a whore.
If your boyfriend says he’s not ready to lose his virginity, you should respect that.
Keep your prom dresses. You’ll love them when you’re 30 and going through a girlie phase.
Having alcohol poisoning is not funny. You should probably figure out why you’re not scared that you did.
Crochet scarves. If you start doing it now, not only will you have a kick-ass scarf collection, but you’ll probably be pretty good at it and might be able to do something professionally with it. Or sew. Or design. Do something in creation.
You know how you spend one paycheque a month on your rent and food and basically blow the other one? Put the other one in the bank. Seriously.
Collect airmiles.
Buy that exquisite vintage Victorian-look trench coat. You’ll still be thinking of it when you’re thirty, wishing you had.
For the love of god, eat.
Go vegan for the principal, not the diet.
Travel. Even just to the island. Don’t leave it until you are aching for it.
You’re not meant to run for two hours while smoking. Neither are you meant to do 1000 situps in a day. Knock it down a notch.
You will meet a man, and you will dance the usual dance with him, and you two will walk through and throw at each other fire, and it will be the hardest relationship of your life, and you will hate him and yourself for it, at times. But you will love him.
Let go. Now. While you can easily.
You have obsessive compulsive disorder and that is largely connected to your father; you’re afraid of the dark, spiders and water, and that is somehow based in your mother; you have bipolar disorder and that’s probably everyone and no one’s fault; you have ADD and that’s another product of genetics; you have a taste for, but not addiction to cocaine, and that’s both inherited and not, as is alcohol and cigarettes.
You have more control over yourself than your family ever has had over their own selves. Use this for good, not sickness.
That girl named Tracy doesn’t hate you and you’re imagining her looks of disdain. You’ll end up having late night conversations with her before you’re 30.
Books will always be important to you, as will music and writing and knowledge and kindness. Everything else is really unimportant, if you look at it clearly.
You’ll almost always dislike your hair cuts. Just accept this.
A 22″ waist is ridiculous, at your height. Seriously. Don’t even try to get there.
Don’t worry. Your boobs will be awesome one day. Really awesome.
Go to church. Even though you don’t believe. Use the people who do. Have faith in them.
Just be.
