Not the Same Doll

1999

hello!

futer me can read this one day. grandma betty is helping me rite it becuz some of the lettrs go the rong way (like b and d and sometiems s is backwards and i dont care).

i hop you still like to ride bikes and play barbies. i am realy fast on my bike now and i can do it with no hands for a sec but dont tell mom.

sometimes the police come to our house. they stand in the kitchen and talk quiet. my bruthers tell me to stay in the room and not come out so nobody takes me. i dont know who would take me but they say it like its important.

dad drinks beer from cans and sometimes he falls asleep in the chair before dinner. one time he had to go away becuz he was in truble. when he came back he said he didnt eat anything in there and mom made him eggs anyway.

he is still a good dad. when he is sleeping on the couch i have tea partys on his belly. i put the cups on him and he snores and i pretend he is a mountain. when he wakes up he plays along.

also i am mad becuz my bruther keeps switching the heads on my barbies and it is NOT funny. he says its the same doll but it is not. i can tell.

when i grow up i want to be an art techer like mom. i like paint and markers and the smel of glue even tho grandma says dont sniff it.

i love my dad.

Ian and Erik get on my nervs. i hate having older bruthers. they are loud and they touch my stuff and say its not a big deal but it is.

i love my cats. they are soft and know when im sad.

ok thats all. my hand is tired and the e keeps going backwards agian.

love,

me

No Date

Oh sweet girl.

You weren’t expecting a letter back. This wasn’t a conversation. But somehow this still found you.

Your brothers will always get on your nerves. That part does not expire. They will grow up and still touch your stuff. You will fight and then realize they are the only people who remember certain versions of you.

You’re still riding bikes for a while. You stop playing barbies eventually, not because you want to, but because some things don’t come back once they’re put away.

It’s cute you want to be an art teacher. You are talented. But what you were born to do is sell. You read rooms before people speak. You always have.

About the police and the quiet kitchen talks — you won’t have words for that for a long time. Families can be messy and still loving. Two things can be true at once.

Grandma Betty is wise. Listen to her.

And Dad — he loves you. He is also fighting things you cannot see.

Give him a hug while you can.

You survive it. Not perfectly. But completely.

Love,

Older You

Agust 19, 2000

Dear later me,

I am sex now. (I meen six but it keeps looking wrong.)

I dont sleep in the middel anymore.

I tried to like alwase but Dad said his back hurt becase it was broken from lifting ferniture at his part time job. He goes to college for farmasuticals and Mom says thats very hard so I should be good. They started argewing about the bed and I felt like I did somthing wrong even tho nobody said I did.

I went to my room. Mom layed with me for a little bit. I looked at the seeling and had a thought I didnt like. I thought what if Dad died. I didnt tell anyone.

In the morning there was panik.

Mom was moving fast. The house felt loud but nobody was yelling. Men came in with big bags and serious faces. I could hear Mom telling them what Dad looked like and what he took.

Me and my bruthers were in one room. Mom came in and asked if any of us wanted to see Dad becase she thinks this is the last time.

I stood up and said I do.

My bruthers grabbed me right away and said absalutly not.

Then we went to the hospitol.

They put us in a little room with chairs all around the walls and no windows. Mom whispered, I think hes dead. They only put us in this room when pepole are dead.

A man came in wearing black. He said Dad died.

I didnt react right away. I looked at Mom and my bruthers and saw them start to cry. So I did too.

Later pepole kept bringing us food. I dont know why. We have food already.

Pepole keep saying Dad overdosed. I dont know what that is but I say it back. It feels like copying homework.

When I say it out loud it doesnt sound real.

I think I should stop writing now.

Love,

Me

October 12, 2007

Dear older me,

I look terrible.

My skin is breaking out and I tried toothpaste and now it’s just red.

I only wear the same two shirts because the other ones make me look weird. I stuff my bra because I’m tired of looking like a little kid. It’s obvious. I can tell it’s obvious. I still do it.

I keep staring at myself in the mirror trying to find the angle where I don’t look awkward. There isn’t one.

I dress like I think older girls dress but it just looks wrong.

He looked at me today for like half a second. I’ve replayed it so many times it doesn’t even feel real.

Also I have a crush on a boy who is a year younger but that’s embarrassing so obviously I would never do that.

I act like I don’t care but I care about everything.

Everyone says middle school doesn’t matter. That’s easy to say when you’re not in it.

I feel like I’m behind everyone else.

If you ever say I was cute at this age I’m deleting you from existence.

— Me

No Date

Oh my God.

I forgot how much I hated middle school.

I was failing socially and academically. I was so focused on myself — every zit, every hallway glance — that I couldn’t see anything else.

The hierarchy I thought was permanent collapsed. The “hot” girls didn’t stay that way. The boys who felt essential turned out to be forgettable.

I, however, did not fade.

I became extremely pretty. I just kept getting prettier. And smarter. And sharper.

I even modeled for a bit.

The difference wasn’t surgery.

It was time.

Middle school was boot camp. It built resilience and humor.

I felt behind.

I wasn’t.

I was loading.

That’s how insignificant this period is — I forgot most of it.

— Me

March 3, 2009

Dear whoever you are,

I’m starting to think this is a prank.

My brothers are assholes.

Dad is dead. That’s fine. They didn’t get promoted.

Eric found my cigarettes and decided to smoke the entire pack himself to prove a point.

He looked stupid.

It didn’t feel like love. It felt self-righteous.

— Me

No Date

To younger me,

Eric is still annoyingly self-righteous.

But he cares.

You and both of your brothers are predisposed to addiction.

Being functional does not mean not addicted. Not everyone falls apart like Dad. Some people hold jobs. That doesn’t mean they’re fine.

Eric is the closest biological version of you in this world.

Both of you become something.

Both of you become functional.

And both of you have a streak of him.

Watch yourself.

Watch him.

This is not about cigarettes.

— Me

June 18, 2011

Girl.

I’ve been to so many house parties this week. Someone got stabbed at one.

My friends are dangerous. I like that. I feel powerful around them.

I take whatever is handed to me. I live fast.

One night I picked up my boyfriend and he was drunk. He offered me a drink and I said no. I could just feel that was a bad idea. I knew something would happen that night. I was right. We got pulled over.

I blew zeros.

Nothing happened.

I’m really good at staying calm when I get pulled over.

That’s the thrill.

Getting away with it.

— Me

No Date

To younger me,

You’re confusing adrenaline with strength.

You’re confusing survival with invincibility.

I’m still wild.

I’m just not careless.

Brace for impact.

— Me

November 2, 2011

I’m pregnant.

I’m not crying.

I’m just sitting here.

This doesn’t feel reckless.

It feels permanent.

— Me

July 14, 2012

You never replied about the pregnancy.

That sucked.

Miley is beautiful.

She looks at me like I know what I’m doing.

I don’t.

I’m scared I’m going to hurt her somehow.

I haven’t slept in weeks.

Please write back.

I want your boring advice.

— Me

No Date

Go to the doctor.

Research postpartum. Research OCD.

Intrusive thoughts are not intuition.

White-knuckling motherhood is not proof that you love her enough.

Go to the doctor.

— Me

No Date

I went to college.

I finished.

I make six figures now.

The same adrenaline I used to waste? I use it in negotiations.

Functional chaos.

I’m still wild. I just point it somewhere productive.

I don’t need to get away with things anymore.

I win.

And I found love.

He’s four years younger. Fine as hell. Calm in a way that doesn’t feel boring.

Miley looks proud now.

I still have a streak of Dad in me.

But I am not careless.

I am still me.

Just sharpened.

— Me

No Date

To the girl in 1999,

You were right.

It wasn’t the same doll.

You could tell.

You have always been watching.

That’s what saved us.

Not the chaos.

Not the rebellion.

Not the beauty.

Not the money.

The watching.

You knew when you didn’t take that drink.

You knew when the crying wouldn’t stop.

You knew in rooms before deals turned.

You’ve always known.

I don’t lie on the couch passed out anymore.

Sometimes I lay still on purpose and let my daughter climb on me.

I don’t pretend to be a mountain.

I stay awake.

It’s not the same girl.

I can tell.

— Me