From your past self who needs you

Hey, It's you from the past. By now I assume you will be nearly 20, and you will know whether we passed grade 12 or not, whether we got decent grades or not, whether we got into our dream uni or not. You're an adult now, a real one. I am terrified. I know you probably are terrified too. I don't know how we're gonna make it, and to be honest I don't know if I want to. You know how stuff is here. We've always wanted to leave, since as far as I can remember. Every time I write one of these letters for my future birthday I am afraid I might not get to read it, that I just give up for once and all. But we haven't yet. 4 years living near a river and I'm still here. It's just so hard not to drown in stress, we've had seizures for this already, they don't find anything wrong with us so blame it on ptsd. But how do you not want me to be stressed? Our predicted grades would make mom ashamed if she was here. What if we don't get into our top choice, what if we don't get any offers, what if we don't get a place to live, what if we don't have enough money, what if we can't adult? what if they have always been right about us, saying that we're useless and unable to do **** for ourselves? You know the answers for all- or most- of my questions. You know if we are going to uni or not. I don't know if I would jump if I don't get in, but maybe. Maybe. I need to rant to you because I'm nearly 19 and I have ****** up in so many ways so many times on the last few months, I have been humiliated like 5 times already last month alone and I don't care but I do. I can't not. I'm sorry. I hate who we are right now. I hate what we do. I hate it here. I wanna go home, but I mean home in 2019. It was sick and awful but it was familiar. It doesn't even exist anymore. I can't see me making it out there, I can't see me being alive at 30 or working or earning anything myself, being in a serious relationship or even looking older. I just can't, I've always been scared because maybe it means I will just not make it till there. Past us would not believe what i've done the last months for all the bad reasons. Relapses on sh, vaping, drinking, seizures, humiliation, you name it. Blank space in july because I'm done and I've basically disappeared from the world because i'm exhausted. I'm sorry for dumping this on you, both future me and anyone else who reads this. But I need to know. I need to know we made it. Please just tell me we got that diploma. I sold my soul for it, and I would sell my body and whatever they want from me for it, I totally would. I just need to know we will be okay. I'm so scared, so ******* scared and everyone around is so excited to turn 18 because they have daddy's money and a place ensured on their dream uni and their cars and houses, and I know hating on the rich kids is stupid and immature but I'm tired. 18 means celebration for them, for me it meant start doing legal **** and paperwork and lose real money and have big consequences. I have to be responsible for myself but now with money on my hands. I don't even have parents, do I also have to mother myself then? Jesus. I just want an adult to explain **** to me without being angry like I'm supposed to be born knowing. Maybe one day we will actually be okay. Maybe one day I won't wake up wishing to jump off a bridge just because the air feels off. Maybe all this won't matter. Maybe they won't matter. Maybe not even my diploma will matter. but it does now. All this matters now. So please just tell me we're okay. Tell me you're okay. Tell me you're alive and good and with decent scores. Tell me we will be alright. Please, I want so bad for the good things to happen. Tell me they ever do. I love you. I depend on you. Sorry for the pressure, but you are keeping me alive right now. So I love you, because in my head, afraid as I am, you already have it all. At least in my head, we're already set and free and alright, and the good things are happening, because please, if I have ever needed good things happening is right now. Tell me you got our favourite fig to eat. I hope you still read Plath. Love, You.