Dear…. me.
No. You’re not me.
You don’t have my experiences
You don’t have my friends
We don’t see the world in the same way
And that’s the problem.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I broke my promises
I’m sorry I’ve made mistakes
And I’m sorry you think the way you do.

Good things?
You change.
You grow.
Yes, you’re not perfect,
But you never were.
And you never will be.
But you will try.
You are trying.
Me. I’m trying.

Sincerely, me.
To a better tomorrow.

I want to love you.
I want to snuggle
on the couch and
watch a Disney movie.
I want to forget about
school and my chores
and my anxiety and
pretend we’re the only
two creatures in the world.

But I can’t. Because I don’t.
And I can’t force myself to
love you, no matter how much
I try. You’re not my soulmate
and that’s okay. You deserve
to be able to find yours.
And I hope you do. Because
you’re amazing. And one day,
you will.

Who am I?
I’m Juliana.
I am what I obsess over.
I am who and what I love.
I am that book that I cannot stop reading.
I am those John Green quotes.
I am Hamilton, and Rent, and Dear Evan Hansen.
I am who I am with my friends,
and who they make me want to be.
I am those kids that I see whenever I close my eyes,
and they are my dream that needs to come true.
I’m a lover.
I’m a dreamer.
I’m an artist.
I’m a hypocrite.

I try to be a good person.
I try to imagine others with complexity.
I try to be enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.
I try to belive that I will see those kids one day.
That they’ll get to call me Mom.
That I’ll get to read them my favorite books before bedtime
and see them grow up; and have kids and dreams of their own.

I try not to be someone who lets ADHD and Anxiety control my life.
But it does.
When I tell my Anxiety to shut the hell up,
it lets my ADHD go wild.
And when I calm myself down,
it just gives my Anxiety back the reins.

I say I image others with complexity,
but that just means putting them in more than one box and narrowing them further.
I read the same book over and over and over again
because I know I can’t create anything better.
So I don’t even try.
I wish I was someone who tried.

I know that if Colton magically came alive,
he’d shoot me.
We could never be the friends we are in my head.
He’d never show me the sides of himself I know he has,
because I’m me.
I’m not special.

What is love?
Why does it exist?
Is it just a thing that blinds us from our realities,
or is it reality itself?
Why am I on this earth,
moving around this galaxy,
floating in this universe?
Is it the only one out there?

Is there a version of me without her head in the clouds?
One who is happy.
One who doesn’t talk every second of the day,
but also doesn’t care if she does?
Is there a version of me who will get those angels?
Who will be the Mom I want to be,
who I know they deserve?
Or is this me.
The person in front of you,
the only me I will ever get.
The is both the best and worst version of myself,
doing everything wrong but yet trying her best to do it right.

I want to be happy.
I want to be proud of the people and the things that I love.
Whether they’re fictional or not.
I want to be me.
I want to say: this is me.
I want to be confident in who I am.
I want to not be a hypocrite.
So how am I doing so far?

Do you ever want to run away?
Like, find your person and run
To that deserted island,
Never to be seen again.

An island with an endless
Supply of food and water.
With every book and movie
In the world, just no way
To contact those you
Left behind.

Who is the person you’d pick?
What do you do when you
know that the person you’d
pick, has someone else in mind?

I know I am nobody’s favorite person.
Whether it’s because we’ve never met,
Or your mama’s your best friend,
Or you’ve known this person since kindergarten
Or he’s your boy and I’m your girl.

If I ran away to that deserted island,
what message would I leave behind?
Because even though I’m nobody’s
favorite person, they still love me,
right? Right?

If I left a note,
it would probably be song lyrics.
“I hope I made you smile
that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Why do I want to run away?
I want my hands to stop shaking.
I want the memories out of my head
whenever I close my eyes.
I want my mistakes not to matter anymore.
I want to forget the little things.

I hate anxiety.
I hate that it makes me think these things.
I hate that I’ve made mistakes.
I hate that I’ve hurt people I love
without the knowledge I was even doing it.

I just want to be happy
without feeling guilty for it.
I know the world isn't perfect,
but I want that to be okay.
I want to be able to say
“yes” instead of “yes, but.”

I want that deserted island
to come to me.

I do not like how our world is.
I don’t like there are people who
have to die for their child to live.
I don’t like that we forget to
view others with complexity.
I don’t like that we have to fight a
fight that started long before we
were born, and should have never
started in the first place.

I do not like how our world is.
And I do not like how it’s headed.
I am not a perfect person.
I’ve been ignorant.
I’ve made mistakes.
But I have always tried
to do the right thing.

This is not the right thing.
How am I supposed to put
one foot in front of the other,
when I’m walking into a trap?

I do not like how our world is.
I do not like how it’s headed,
And I don’t see the light at
the end of the tunnel.
I feel that the mountain
I'm under, is about to implode.

I don’t want this train to stop
before I even learn where it’s headed.
And I am so scared for my
journey to end.
But what’s scarier, is the journey
up ahead:
one I never signed on to,
and have no way to stop.

I want to be in love.
I want you to hold me close
while I learn everything about you.

I want to know what makes you happy,
and what’s your favorite book
to read on a snowy day.

I want to lay on the beach with you
even though I hate the sand,
just so the two things that make me
feel warm are in the same place.

I want to love you.
I want to fall utterly,
ridiculously in love with you.
And I want you to fall in love with me.

I want you to dance with me in the kitchen,
to all of our favorite songs.
I want you to love my annoying rants
even though you’ve heard it all
a million times before.

I want you to make me feel safe.
I want you to be my home.
I want to be in love with you.

And most of all,
I want for us to meet.

I have an anxiety disorder.
I know, I know.
We all do.

It’s 2019. We’re Gen Z.
We grew up eating Red 40,
and processed sugar’s our religion.

But I have an anxiety disorder.
And ADHD. And a bit of OCD
when it comes to schoolwork.
Or books. Or anything that
does not matter.
But my room? Hahaha,
what’s cleaning?

I have an anxiety disorder.
That phrase goes through
my head several times a day.

I feel the constant buzzing.
My dance teachers used to
tell me to radiate energy
out of my fingertips.
And I do.
My hands tremble constantly,
and I forget to breathe.

I used to be that kid that
always had an imaginary friend.
When I was little,
his name was DeeDee.
But when he went away,
and there were others.
Like characters in a story,
but I could see them. Talk to them.
Now the voices are just in my head.

I have an anxiety disorder.
I like to talk. A lot.
Sometimes I’ll say a sentence
and not get to the point
for an hour.
Ranting’s like a pastime to me.
I’ll just ramble on and on.
Then stop myself.
“So, how’s your life going?”
Two seconds of silence,
Then back to whatever
show, or movie, or teacher
was annoying the hell out of me
whenever this conversation started.

I promise I don’t do this because I
like to hear myself speak.
On the contrary, actually.
I hate it. I hate my voice. I hate my words.
But I can’t face the silence.
Because whatever I say out loud
is a million times better
then the voices in my head.

“Shut up.”
“They don’t care.”
“You forgot to do this.”
“Remember that one time
you said that thing
freshmen year.”

I have an anxiety disorder.
I have ADHD.
I’ll have OCD if I get worse.

And if I could flip a switch
and it would all go away,
I would
in a heartbeat.
Snap my fingers and move to
a deserted island without any
people to judge my every move.
But then I’d be left with the
thing I hate most.
Quiet.