Dear Teenage Dirtbag

An open letter to my past myself

Dear Past Phoenix (I guess I’ll call you Courtney),

Yo, dawg! Wassup? We turn 32 today. Yeah, I said “we” because I’m you. From the future! Or actually the present. It depends on where you are in the timeline.

So, I’ve lived double the amount of time as you have. And, sweetie, it ain’t lookin’ great. Ima be real with you. Chris Brown is an abuser, yeah that lil’ Run It! kid from VA. You’ll eventually see Jesse McCartney in concert, but it won’t be in his prime. Rhianna, is somehow still relevant; the Queen B, still smashing records; T Swift, smashing her own records and literally looks like she came out of a fairytale. You’ll get Lover on vinyl and you’ll buy the cardigan from Cardigan, but you won’t ever be able to afford her tickets. Actually the Eras Tour is currently on and even celebrities are posting from the crowd. It’ll be the biggest event in 2023, followed by the Barbie movie. Yeah, Barbies. And everyone will love it except right-wing homophobes.

Oh yeah, you’re really into politics, but you‘ll find that out too late and won’t have the credentials to work in law. And you’re also out as bisexual and non-binary, like your identities don’t even make sense with each other. Surprise! I hope that solves that confusion. Don’t worry, you’ll love that part of yourself.

You won’t be in the political sphere or the nonprofit sector, but you’re still a writer. We’re in a few-years-long writer’s block, but we still say we’re a writer. You self-published a book of poetry in 2020 during a giant, global pandemic that you really don’t wanna know about. Just, listen to Fauci because you don’t even want to know who’s president at that time.

Throughout high school, you’ll fuck shit up and you’ll have a great time. Doug is your friend, and you love each other, like for real, but he’s not ready for that. You’ll get the best Biology grade even though you spent the whole time talking to Doug. You’ll forever remember that pH stands for percent of Hydrogen. Your entire senior year is one ploy after another, sorry. It’s because you’ll date Chris, yes that Chris. I’m not shitting you! But that comes with haters, and Micki will start some shit in the background that you won’t even learn about until college. It’ll make sense then, but in the meantime, just… don’t trust every boy who claims to like you. Even now, don’t trust anyone.

In college, well, we’ll get to that. It won’t be fun. It won’t be the experience you want. You’ll always fall short. And there’s a giant anchor holding you down. (see below) It’ll always feel like you’re underneath something, and sometimes you can’t breathe. That’s anxiety. You’ll try and try and try and you won’t get to where you want to be, at least not yet. But you’re brave, resourceful, and determined.

Don’t fault yourself for loving people. Don’t fault yourself for trying something new. The right time never comes. Please don’t harp on all the social media bullshit, like classmates getting married/engaged and having babies. You’re not going to make Mom’s timeline. But that’s okay. Don’t fault yourself for wanting to be loved or wanted. Don’t fault yourself for picking someone else over yourself because you’re kind. Your 20’s are going to be filled with joyous moments, but they’re going to hurt. Really hurt. Don’t lose your spark for creativity. You’re going to take it, don’t put down the blow as fast as you can. You’ll try many times to escape. It will be so hard to get out of bed, but you’ll love $1 tamarind ice.

Hold on to those you truly love. Jess will still be your bestie! Really hold onto them like they’re grains of sand escaping your fist. Hold on and don’t let go unless they turn out to be jellyfish. The world’s faults aren’t yours. You’ve learned forgiveness at such an early age, but the last person you’ll learned to forgive is yourself. Learn the difference between circumstance, a person being an asshole, and your own damn undoing. Life will not be what you hoped for; it is not the Disney movie of your Mom and Dad. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Because you still have hope in your eyes. That will get you into trouble. Learn to touch the stove and leave your finger there. Try to touch the sky from a rooftop and end up on the sidewalk. That’s what it feels like.

I wish I could tell you it gets better or that your life is fulfilled and full of love. But you find those in pieces, like mining. Honey, I wish I could tell you it all works out, your family loves you, and you’re not alone right now. I can tell you that you adopt two dogs, not at the same time. And you love them so much, and they love you so much. You are imperfect beings in this imperfect world or war, rage, manipulation, power, and hate. Love those around you every day. Be patient with yourself every day. Forgive yourself every day. Baby, we made it this far. We never thought we’d make it past 25, and look at us seven years later.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you a bit about your story and throw in some warning signs:

You get your MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from The New School. I see you eyeing that place already. You’ll U-turn back to it, but I think it’s for the best. You’ll work two years of unpaid internships in publishing, be a writing tutor for six or seven days a week, and do gig work. Gigs are the economic future. It sucks. But you’ll work for some of the greatest people in publishing, and get nowhere at all. You’ll be unable to pay rent and get persuaded by a coked up teacher to pursue your Master’s in English Education. Yeah, you know how you always say you won’t be a teacher? That’s a lie. You’re good at it, and you need cash.

We’ll get back to the coked up teacher. I know you have questions, but this is Bushwick, right? Teaching won’t work out, another side bar, and during that pandemic thing I mentioned earlier, you’ll earn your Master’s in Library & Information Science for Children and Young Adults. So you get to be a Teen Librarian, but someone fucks that shit up for you, which is a recurring theme in your life.

You’ll work in a charter school for underserved children, and some guy will fuck shit up for you again, and you’ll find yourself here: in Portland, OR. Yup. It’s not all it’s chalked up to be. Maybe if you moved here for college. You have no friends here and no family at all except for Pat. Your partner, it’s kind of a long-distance thing but worse. But hey, it’s your 2-year anniversary today too! Yup on our birthday. Best 30th birthday present ever. You’ll love him so much that you’ll feel all of this pain just so he can patch it back together. And you know what? He’ll love you too, in ways only he can show.

This brings me to the list of things that aren’t your fault, but you’ll take years to realize it.

1. What happened as a kid, you were a kid, and so was he. You know who wasn’t? Mom and Dad. Yeah, it’s their fault that this happened to you for five years under their roof. And I’m sorry, baby, but they’ll leave you over this. They’ll die on this hill. And you won’t talk to them again; they won’t wish us a happy birthday. They’ll run away to South Carolina, and you’ll run away to Portland and regret your choice pretty quickly.
2. You’re going to date Tom, comic nerd Tom, for almost all four years of college. I know, eww. You should’ve gone for his ‘fro friend he makes movies with; that’s actually a side bar too. Keep and eye on him. But, honey, listen to me. You know you should’ve left Tom and you should’ve seen the signs, but, baby, he threatens you many times. You try to run away, but he is always there. You do everything you have to keep everyone safe at your own expense. He weighs you every week, and sweetheart, please don’t believe the number. He’s going to hit you. He’s going to ball his hands into fists and throw the nearest heavy object at you. Then he’ll give you flowers or buy you things you like. Throw them away. You’ll do all the essay writing he doesn’t want to do on top of your own shit, and he’ll parade you around conventions like you’re a model. It’ll make you feel good for a second, but then when a stranger touches your skin, you’ll feel gross. And you’ll do this all day. It feels like sex work, but Tom calls it support. Now, baby, when you’re 19, you’ll have a little girl in your belly. You’ll just know. You’ll tell Tom, and he’ll ask his ‘fro friend without your knowledge, and he will do everything to support you, but you won’t find out until your 30th birthday (yup). Tom won’t listen to him. He’ll use his fists, and you won’t be able to look at a metal hanger without wincing. Your baby girl will bleed out in your panties. You’ll use your hands to scrape off the blob of stringy tissue. You’ll never forget the sound of your baby girl hitting toilet water. You’ll cry in that stall for a while, but you’ll know you have to report back. You’ll flush without looking because it’s easier that way. You tell Tom you have your period. He is happy. And you refuse to believe that was a baby for the next three years. FYI, her name is Jordan and she’ll be turning 13 this November. You’ll see her grow when you see her ghost. She’s a happy kid. At the end of college, you’ll catch Tom cheating on you, has been cheating on you, with a girl from his college. You had a feeling. It’d be when he doesn’t attend Mama’s funeral in March of 2013 that he breaks up with you. He’ll ask you if you think she’s pretty, but bitch is fugly AF. You’re so wrapped up in believing this is love that you cry for three or four days straight. You have a Psych exam. You go in not caring and get a 100. You can do this. All on your own.
3. Later that year, you’ll tell Mom about Tom and what happened as a kid. She’ll cry. She’ll tell Dad. He’ll look solemn. They won’t apologize to you, and even when you beg for it years later, they’ll refuse to take responsibility. But, baby, none of this is your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this.
4. Late that year you’ll get engaged, get a job, and get in a car accident in the same week. He is a She now. You met her at the writing center. Her name is Elizabeth. You’ll have no idea she has been plagued by gender norms and fitting into her father’s Catholic views so much that she leaves you. Randomly. Because she was afraid. The end of your engagement is not your fault, even though Mom will say it is. Five years later, you’ll find out about her transition. You’ll raise money for her and see her for the first time since the break up. It’ll be like no time has passed. And you’re bi, which she didn’t know and will appropriately facepalm. You kiss. It feels the same, like magic. She won’t be the first girl you kiss; her name is Callie and holy hell is she beautiful. But Elizabeth asks for the feminine caress of her face, and you do the best you can with shaking hands. She’ll lean into you. You’ll watch trains headed for NYC go by. You’ll both stall for time. You’ll make her promise to keep in touch. She won’t; she’ll vanish again, ached by the pain of transitioning and acceptance within her family. Even if you give her all of your support, it won’t be enough to cover the disappointment of family. You’ll learn this for yourself later.
5. You’ll start your MFA in Pittsburgh of all places because money. But by the second year, you’ll learn that it’s corrupt as shit and want to leave. The department will force your hand, and I’m proud of the way you’ll hold your own. But what’s important in Pittsburgh is the start of your journey in therapy. Mom and Dad will be so angry because you’ll also start your Wild West journey of medication management. You currently take about 11 pills a day. It sucks. But this therapist, Michaela, will be one of the best things to happen to you. She’ll allow you to open up. You’ll realize you have Depression, Anxiety, c-PTSD, and anorexia nervosa — all real diagnoses, not the way people use these terms so casually. These are all compounded by genetics and your past — our past. Aunt Anna and Aunt Lisa will tell you about their childhood depression, when it started, and how they feel now. They were never diagnosed or medicated, but they tell you that Mom didn’t get it. Yeah, we got it doubled down. This makes a lot of sense. You’ll experience the worst flashbacks, dissociations, self-harm, and suicidal ideation during this time. That’s the PTSD talking.
6. In New York City, many people will try to take advantage of you. Remember the good ones: Max and Leo. You’ll try online dating, which is a terrible mishmash of terrible people. Many will be one-night-stands, and that’s okay. Some will hurt you physically; a few will hurt you emotionally. Dating women is way too hard and scary, and you seem to get along better with guys anyway. It’s always been that way. But that doesn’t make you any less bi or non-binary. You’ll love the Pride Parade and feel safe AF. You’ll come out to your parents in October of 2016 in a weird sushi restaurant in Chinatown. You’ll tell them about Jordan first to soften the blow and they won’t give a flying fuck. Then you’ll tell them. Mom will cry and demand to know how you know. Dad will be supportive for once. Mom will never come around to this. I’m sorry, baby girl. Aunt Anna will say that you’re too gay and then another time say you’re not gay enough, and Aunt Lisa and Mom will kinda agree. And that will be the last time you see your extended family. Partly because you’ll realize your family has already abandoned you and partly because of that pandemic thing. You’re on the hunt for your chosen family now.
7. During your first year teaching, you’ll be set up to fail. But worse than that, another teacher will have you follow him to Happy Hour with the other teachers, except somehow he’ll trick you into his apartment and lock you inside. He’ll try to rape you. Those years of sparring will come in handy, and you’ll get away, but not before the pain. You will have panic attacks many times during school. The police will trick you into closing your case. You will have no choice but to leave, switch schools. Your practicing license will be revoked, and this will come back to bite you in the ass so many times. Your career is in limbo. You may have to go back to school and do it again. The shower becomes scary because a black demon comes out of it and hurts you, and you’ll have the cuts to prove it. This will haunt you. But it is not your fault. He picked you because you were new. You denied his advances and he tricked you. That is not your fault. Your license being in limbo is not your fault, but it is your problem, and that’s fucking unfair. Don’t let others tell you otherwise. It’s all just noise. Really loud noise.
8. You’ll try your hand at being a librarian, and actually you kinda love it. You’ll love your job until your ex, a coworker, blows up in the middle of a library. Of course, no one will believe you and you’ll lose your job over principle. You’ll learn that all systems talk in NYC, and you won’t be accepted anywhere. You’ll realize you’ve run out of options. It will hurt. You won’t be able to pay rent. You’ll do gig work, including sex work. You’ll feel gross about it, but you get cash and go. You’ll feel like you’re in a toxic realm and there’s nothing for you here. You love NYC, but you hate it all the same. It won’t be so shiny anymore. You’ll leave, run as far away within the country as possible. But all the bullshit follows you.
9. This is the one I’ve been dreading to tell you. Mom and Dad won’t love you anymore. They will kick you out of their house several times. You’ll have huge, explosive fights. They will not love you anymore. And it won’t be because you’re gay or you don’t have the right job. It’ll be because they don’t like you. They won’t want to talk to you again. They’ll betray you and tell you they wish you were dead. It’ll hurt. A lot. And you’ll miss them. A lot. But you won’t go back to them, at least not yet. You’re a floundering fish, but you’ll refuse to show them that. You have Pat. You’ll always have him, always love him. This is not your fault. They are your parents, and they should not have withheld medical information from either of you and they should take responsibility for what happens in their house. They’re cowards. And instead of being parents, they rather lose you. That is not your fault. Bad parenting is not your fault. You already know this. It’s already starting. You already know Pat may have autism. That’s where it all starts. Honey, I wish I could tell you they didn’t mean it, and I wish I could tell you they’ll call today, but, baby, they won’t. And you’ll deal with their aging and the finances and your brother all on your own. You may not be in the will, but you will fulfill your obligation to provide some kind of care of dignity. Because you are a wonderful person, a kind and empathetic person.

You are a kind and empathetic person, and that’s why when you see someone who needs help, you help them no matter who they are. You are a kind and empathetic person, and that’s why you’ll build the skeleton of The Bronx’s first non-profit free recreation center with fitness, a library, and workshops. You are a kind and empathetic person, and that is why you have an idea for a non-profit harm reduction center open for much longer hours in multiple locations in Portland. You are a kind and empathetic person, and that is why you hold on to those you love with a grip stronger than anything. And maybe that is why you get hurt so much. You’re not made for this world that’s so individualistic and malicious. You’re too precious, too delicate, and too loving.

You were also dealt a shit hand, as you probably already know that. You start self-harming soon — try to hold off as much as possible. Your parents didn’t protect you. Your partners didn’t understand you. And you spiral and spiral and spiral until you come undone.

You’re diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. You check all the boxes. It is pretty fucked. Less than 1% of Americans have BPD. But hey, you’re still worthy of love, kindness, empathy, opportunity, and support. Maybe you feel like you don’t belong, and you still kinda do, but that’s because it’s possible you don’t. I wish I could be writing to you saying how great everything is. Maybe Future Phoenix will say that. I haven’t received that letter.

I’ll leave you with this reassurance: ‘Fro dude loves you. He may never physically be there with you, but he loves you so much. It’s your second anniversary today. You trust that he loves you, and when things get better, and in some time that will later feel less than it does now, you’ll really be together and watching him leave every time won’t end in crying. Your friends, the few friends you have now (Jess is the only one left from high school, fuck all the rest) love you and support you, even if they can’t always be there in person or on the phone. They’re your family, and that’s so important. Pat loves you and cares about you; he hides you from Mom and Dad (you call them “his parents” now), just like you asked him to. Your first dog passed away a year ago, but he loved you so fucking much, and he was there through all the chaos and pain to bring you joy and love. Your dog now loves you so much; he’s the beacon in an otherwise sad place. There is love in your life. Yeah, most of them are literally nowhere near you, but you have them to carry you through the shitty times, the fucking difficult times, and the moments of happiness. You will have moments of happiness in your Depression. You will. Hold them in your heart so it won’t break so easily.

You’re worth it, dude. We’re worth it.

Love,
You from 2023