I opened it on the morning of my 24th birthday; I’d slept with the
envelope beside the bed so it would be the first thing I saw upon
waking. I made my boyfriend leave the room, so I could read it alone. It
felt the way Christmas morning feels when you’re 6: deeply magical and
filled with potential. When I unfolded the pages, though, I couldn’t
believe what I read. My 24-year-old self was horrified. It turns out I
was an absolute fool at the age of 14. My 14-year-old self had two main
concerns for her future self: 1) that she not be fat, and 2) that she
had found love. The language was flowery; I “beseeched” myself to be a
good (and thin) person.
Read the rest of article at
The New York Times.
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