Dear Younger Me,

I’d like to tell you that life gets better, but we both know how I hate to lie. The truth is life doesn’t get better, you do. Life sucks for everyone. It is all how you deal with it. Your gut told you that you weren’t supposed to make it, but you did. Your imagination told you the world should end, but it didn’t. You always thought the apocalypse would be an environment in which you would thrive. You never really understood people, and don’t worry you still don’t. You never really fit in with the crowds, but you like that. Try to deny it all that you want, but I know you. I am the only person from whom you cannot hide. But I know something that you do not. You can adapt.

There is nothing wrong with change as long as you remain true to yourself. You are not weak. You never have been, you just thought that you were. You can still be an individual and have people in your life. There is nothing wrong with not fitting in to a society that is full of shit. You can always live on the outskirts and dip a toe in when you feel like it. The more unique you are, the more the people who matter will appreciate you for it.

My advice to you is this: don’t wait for the apocalypse to start living. You can thrive just fine in this world as long as you stay true to who you are and what you believe. But, you never know when the dead will rise, so I would still keep the knife by the bedside.

-Older Me

A childhood memory…

I am four, maybe five. I stay up all night with my older brother watching Child’s Play. I beg him to let me watch with him. The only reason he lets me watch is because he is too scared to watch by himself. We stay up all night and watch the murderous doll kill time after time until the sun shows it’s face and the real action begins.

My brother is being too nice.

“We should go downstairs and hunt for Chucky,” he says. He never wants to play with me. His motives are suspect, but I agree. We arm ourselves with two wiffle ball bats and proceed to the basement. He stays back as I plow forward, checking in every shadow and prepare to defend myself at all costs.

We enter the room filled with the toy kitchen set that includes a stove and a refrigerator. I pull the oven open and back away quickly ready to swing at anything that might jump out at me. Nothing happens. I open the fridge and repeat. Nothing happens. I have one option left. I tighten my grip on the bat and prepare myself for what would seem like a bases-loaded bottom of the ninth situation. I yank the freezer door open and out pops Chucky. I swing and he lands on the floor at my brother’s feet. I race over and beat the doll until his eye pops out but I don’t stop knowing that I am saving my brother until finally a laugh brings me out of my rage.

I look up and discover it is my brother’s laugh and the doll at his feet is not Chucky, but one from my own collection that much like the kitchen set, has never been used. I am ready to take the bat to my brother but realize, given the chance, I would pull the same prank on him. The end result though, would be him running out of the room screaming.

Joke’s on you, Bro.