Dear 16 Year old Me: A “GoodBye” to 25

Dear 16 year old AG,

In just a little over a week, you will say “GoodBye, 25” Veruca Salt circa 1997 style. You will have lived and breathed on Planet Earth for twenty six years. Sometimes that seems normal; other times it feels kind of surreal. The odds are forever and always against us in this world, and to survive – much less thrive – is kind of a miracle, when you really think about it.

It seems like yesterday you were sixteen.

You were frail, knobby kneed, scared of the world. On the outside, you were a twiggy teen with frizzy hair, pale skin, a soft face, and unbelievably awkward social skills. On the inside, your creative storm and hyper focused visions would propel you in ways you even questioned the legitimacy of yourself at that time. Sixteen was the age of survival while also trying to find yourself. You cut your hair in the style of Audrey, dyed it every color under the sun, experimented with pencilling in your eyebrows hella too thick and winging your liner to 1960s pixie girl perfection. You had friends and loved ones and even a lot of fun, yet simultaneously felt misunderstood and isolated in your intrusive thoughts. Your interests and drive and passions were far out of sync from most others. You hated movies, boy bands, and secretly even Aeropostale logo shirts. The “Adult’s only” table was far more appealing than the obnoxious teens your age, laughing about some something you probably didn’t relate to. People gawked over your skinny stature. People thought you were outspoken in humor. You were the “funny, shocking, skinny girl” and unbeknownst to you at the time, that became your identity card to survive the angsty teen years.

People thought you were confident by way of your taste in weird shoes and audacious haircuts, but inwardly, you felt like a walking flaw.

You wanted to be invisible yet noticed.

Hidden yet seen. Everyone else had the looks or the boys chasing after them or the intellect or the family who could do every damn thing, damn well, or some special talent they were known for. But you? Pffft. What did you have to show? The things you wished you could say or create or portray yourself as; they remained tucked quietly in your brain. Your sick, dark humor and love for colorful words and questionable music had their own files. You latched onto every negative comment on your appearance or personality or the things that made you feel like an alien to the supposed prime years of teen-hood.

You weren’t the top of the class and your hatred of homework did not exactly help your procrastination with completing assignments. If you could teach yourself or somehow make it creative with your own twist, you stood a dang good chance at finally one upping the cooler or smarter kid; be it an audition or assignment or presentation. You hated control. You hated things being controlled. Yet, all you wanted was control. To be in control and to have your own voice.

You knew how to get a rise out of others. You knew what made people tick and laugh and get the reaction you went for and how to push their buttons.

To be loved, to be noticed, to feel capable, to maybe touch the hem of the popular kids’ golden robes…

that was the sixteen year old dream.

Lady Gaga was your hero. Brooke Shaden was your artistic muse and where your captivation for aesthetic nudes and conceptual photography began. Writing became your therapy and your camera became your security blanket, your way to hide, and your artistic weapon. Old Hollywood and Norma Jeane’s tragically beautiful life were your obsession. You secretly listened to every single dirty, questionable song on the Born This Way album and felt an odd sense of feeling understood by a pop star who didn’t even know you existed. Los Angeles was always on your mind, and even when others had slim hope for you “making it”, you made a pact with yourself that you’d do whatever it took to get there; starving artist or not. You had secret crushes on boys, habits you hated, and an inner world and dark side of your own; but only your trusty Marilyn Monroe journal knew about them.

She knew every time you skipped meals, how desperately you wanted to rip off your skin, how “fat” you felt at 97 pounds, the woman you wished you could be, the beauty standards of the entertainment industry you lacked, and how sickeningly victorious and also upset you would feel going to bed on empty. She knew about the people who made you feel like a weakling; like a walking twig, incapable of doing hard things. She knew the person you wanted to be and the person you wished to erase. She knew your desperate, inner ache to live far away…thinking Hollywood would heal your every aching need.

You felt boxed in. You felt underestimated. You felt like you could crawl out of your own skin. You felt stuck.

Little did you know…

That your hair was actually curly. That you were capable of running long and fast and hard. That you could actually do the things you set your obsessive brain to. You struggled to embrace your own opinions and say what you truly wanted to say. You covered yourself from head to toe and wore camis under every single shirt, even though you didn’t even need a bra. You didn’t know perv men twice your senior found sex appeal and charm in your innocence and the quirks that you self demonized. You morphed from the “funny, shocking, skin and bones” to suddenly something worth looking at. It was weird. It was repulsive. And yet, it was the most twisted compliment that you had an equally twisted love/hate relationship with.

Dear 16 year old AG,

My, if only you knew what was to come. If only you knew the reality of love; the way it feels like vomiting butterflies one moment and a knife straight to the chest the next. If only you knew how many times you would fall flat on your face, but the way you would pick yourself back up again. If only you knew that your sixteen year old teenage angst would still be a part of you ten years later; but as fuel for your creative brain instead of sabotage. You would take two years to travel solo and find yourself; figure out what really drives your soul. You would learn what you like…and what you dislike. You would learn to embrace your weird side and also develop your own voice. You would stop surrendering to the unfulfilling expectations of what others thought you should be or do or live within the societal norm. You would sign with an agent – your dream – and then later terminate it out of your own willpower; to work within the parameters you wanted instead of someone else. You would finally book some cool auditions and tv/film projects – without your agent – and even accidentally swing open the bathroom door on an A list actor. You would go to trade school, pack your bags, and drive across the country to the Devil’s Playground. You would get your twelve year dream, quash your life skeptics’ unbelief, and voluntarily suffer for two years in a metropolitan dome just to keep your badass identity card. You would spend four months in Russia and Turkey and be ruined in the best of ways from the overseas experience and itch. You would fall in love not once, not twice, but three times…even when you were convinced you would never find love after your first breakup. You would convince yourself of a lot of things. You would convince yourself life was over multiple times; that this was the one obstacle that would break you.

Broken. Damaged. Unlovable.

…But every broken piece from every worst case scenario would sear together and become like porcelain; fragile yet resonant.

You would soon learn that your wants are not always what you need, and sometimes, what you need is not necessarily what you want.

Dear 16 year old AG,

If I could go back in time, I would shake your hand (hugs are too weird) and call a truce. I would tell you to lace up your kicks and come run with me. I would remind you that you can do hard things; that you indeed have an inner strength. I would fight for you when you couldn’t fight for yourself. I would tell you the diet industry is bullshit, your goals are not too lofty, your standards are not too high, your laser focused brain will indeed reap what you have sown in the crap show that is the survival of teen years. I would tell you to kiss the golden hems of the popular kids “Goodbye” and maybe a prominent finger that says they are #1. I would take the other earbud and listen to angsty pop beside you and kindly help you fill in your eyebrows better and maybe encourage you take Government/Economics 101 (a lot) more seriously. I’d confidently tell you to unstrap the padded Victoria’s Secret bra, because pal, ten years later you still won’t fill that thing.

Most of all, I would tell you that you are on the right track.

You are right where you need to be. There is nothing “wrong” about you. You are not crazy. You are not a walking flaw. Your purity is beautiful and you are not “missing out”. The contract of expectations people need you to do and be, you can disregard and instead keep marching to the beat of your own weird drum. I would celebrate every outfit repeated sundress you wore over and over again. I would take up for you every time someone asked if you were anorexic or commented on how discolored your skin was or made you believe your quirks were a curse. I would tell you that something beautiful can come from every heartache and struggle and dark side of your inner world. I would take my camera and highlight your face; the one you wanted to change whenever you looked in a mirror. I would tell you that your obsessive, intrusive, anxiety induced thoughts could propel your creativity and be used for good; to connect to others. I would tell you to keep digging deep, gritting your teeth, and fighting the good fight. Even when it was painful. Even when you scraped up your hands. Even when you felt quashed by your own downfalls. I would tell you that…

You will die.

And you will come alive again.

You will dance on your own grave.

Your 16 year old aches will pass by – ten whole years will pass by – and soon you will stare at 26 on the horizon of making itself at home.

Dear almost 26 year old AG,

Sometimes you inwardly feel like 16 year old AG. Embrace it. Don’t you ever grow up too much inside or chameleon into the societal norm or stop seeing the world through the zealous eyes of a child or hoping for the best or believing in love. Keep playing. Keep creating. Keep fighting the good fight.