To the sweet girl from 10 years ago, 

I was told by a friend that if I truly wanted to heal my past, to shift my gaze from constantly looking backwards, tripping over my heels as I stumble to move in the right direction, bumping my head on every low hanging branch I never seem to see coming, I must first learn to be able to turn my neck. 

I am finally getting around to moving the muscles I never even thought to move. I am starting the part of my life where my neck will no longer be sore. I am starting the part of my life where I begin to look forward. I am writing my goodbye letter to you. 

Sweet girl from ten years ago, filled with nothing but passion and drive. Making videos with an old hand-me-down camera until her arms got sore from playing, and her throat burned of a hard days work. Reading novel after novel as though she needed them to breathe, consuming stories of fantasy, of life, of knowledge. 

Sweet girl, sitting in her hospital bed as her parents put on plays, acting out and singing and dancing, doing anything they could think of to keep her out of crying. Taking test after test, receiving note after note, all to no avail. 

Sweet girl, so many questions and so few answers. Having no idea that these seemingly endless nights and days of shrunken lungs and a dizzy head would one day truly pay off, and become nothing more than stepping stones to the person she will soon become. 

I love you, and I admire you more than anyone I’ve ever met. You amaze me with each and every memory I have of you, each and every old, scrapped up picture from grandma’s photo albums. You are truly something special. 

I wasn’t the only one who saw it, either. Your friends, your family, no matter how close or distant, saw nothing but the world in  you. You could do no wrong in their eyes. Things you thought were simply another day in life were extraordinary to them. 

They saw the passion in your eyes. They saw the love you had for each and every little thing around you, how much creativity and life you had stored inside of you, simply waiting to be used each day. You were their breath of fresh air. You were something otherworldly. 

I would be lying if I said the next 10 years would be easy or positive. I would be lying if I told you you wouldn’t go through hell and back, but, just as everything else, it will all be worth it. They will shape you into the person you are soon to become, and you will overcome each and every obstacle thrown your way. You will learn and grow into something truly inspiring, and you will, with every inch of your body, want to share your story and help others to grow as you have. 

I would also be lying if I told you that you would have everything figured out by the time you’re my age, but I can reassure you that it’s more than okay to be clueless. You may never know exactly who you are or what you’re going to be in your lifetime, but that is for us to figure out together. I can reassure you that there is comfort in the unknown, and that it doesn’t ALL have to be frightening to figure out. In fact, there is art in the task of “figuring it out”. There are an infinite amount of lessons to be learned, and I will be with you through each and every one. 

I love you more than anyone I’ve ever loved before, and I hope you come to love me too. You are the bravest little kid on this earth, and I hope you know you are truly loved by everyone around you. That your creativity and drive is going to be your key to happiness in these next coming years. I’ve always admired your strength, and just how big the light inside of you is. I wish nothing but the best for you, and I can't wait to see what we blossom into in the years ahead of us. 

I love you, sweet girl. Which is why I am finally turning my head, and thus ending the cycle of the backwards walk. I hope you watch in excitement as I go through these next years with taped up ankles and a helmet on my head. I hope in another ten years when I write again, this letter is sent with the same love as this one. 

Thank you for being something I want to look back on. 

With all my love, 

              - Elliot M.