Hoping we don’t hate ourself too much

Dear lin, Hey you. This isn’t a very far off letter but I figured I’d Be nice to write another. Have we told anyone about ourself? I know when I wrote this letter I thought that we were non binary. Did that change? Are we still pan? Do we love ourself yet? I know we started talking to Ez. Are we still friends? I’m taking a break from everything right now—do we still need to do that? Are we still afraid of every plane that flies over? Do we get scared when the gas prices rise unexpectedly? Whatever the case, I really hope you’re okay. We’ve realized people actually might care about us. Ez, Zoe. They might actually like you a little bit. Can we even go outside at all? Did we ever learn any more about witchcraft? Did we fall in love? I’m actually kinda afraid right now. I’m scared of myself, I’m scared of what my mom will do if she finds out. I’m scared of losing so many people. I’ll still have my sisters, at least. But still. I’m so afraid of finding myself but losing everything else. I’m scared of doing something I’ll regret. I’m scared of the world. I’m so scared that I won’t be around even to read this letter. But even so, if we are around for this letter, I want to say something that I might not believe yet but I hope I will. Thomas Sanders, who, believe it or not is encouraging me at least a little bit. When no one was home, I watched his end of June videos. And you know what he said, me? He said that no matter how you feel, you’re not broken. You’re exactly how God wanted you. Talyn said to be yourself. That should mean a lot, coming from them. So just follow those things, okay? We turn sixteen today. I hope we get that big Roarin Twenties party we always wanted. Whether we’re wearing a tux or a glittery dress, I hope you love yourself. Did we ever get blue hair? That would have made moms friends keel over, wouldn’t it? I want you to do me a favor before I say goodbye, okay? I want you to go outside. Look at the moon. Ever changing, eh? Now look at yourself. Your hands. Your face in the mirror. Ever bit of you. Us. We’re going to be okay. Maybe I don’t believe it yet, but I want to. Happy Birthday, you ****. Love you.