Then I stopped. I had to go to class I think. Kerry asked us to write a letter to ourselves and then let her know when she should send it to us. I folded up my "Dear Future Me" letter and it sat on my desk for a week and a half. Whilst organizing, I picked up the forgotten letter and glared at it. Fuck you, Future Me. What the fuck? Why haven't you invented time-travel yet? That's the plan. 1. Invent time-travel. 2. Come back in time. 3. Tell me how to be okay. Goddammit Future Me. I hate you. Then I refolded the letter and tucked it behind my CCYWC letter.
Eventually, I pulled the letter out again. I wished Future Me the best and hoped she was doing alright. I forgave her for not being a time-traveler. I told her that if she had it all figured out, then I was so happy for her, but if she didn't that was okay too; we could have it not figured out together. I told her that the deep-sea diver's complex was not so great, the water cold and all-encompassing, and that I was scared no one was going to pump me oxygen and that I'd drown on the bottom of the ocean.
The last thing I need is a goddamn hero. Just a friend.
Look! A music video that made me sad.
“The deep-sea diver’s complex,” he said, “is . . . It’s a pathological state in which a person withdraws into himself when he’s faced with problems that seem insurmountable. But in fact the person doesn’t really know what’s going on, and his behaviour is . . . instinctive. He senses that he absolutely has to protect himself, so he withdraws into the diving suit: first he pulls on the rubber suit that looks like the costume on the character in the Michelin tire ads, then the bronze helmet that’s as round as a ball and has three little windows covered with a mesh, and finally he puts on his heavy lead soles, otherwise . . .” “I know, I know,” said the girl. “And then?” “Then he slowly goes down the ship’s ladder into the water. He’s safe inside the diving suit. The water doesn’t seem too cold. He goes down deeper and deeper and the light dwindles. The half light is very pleasant, and it’s also very comforting to know that there’s someone on the surface of the water watching over you and operating the pump to give you air. You feel safe and you keep descending. Finally you come to the bottom of the water: it’s calm and you feel very comfortable. There’s just a tiny bit of light. You hardly feel like moving. You’re in a new world. You’re really very comfortable. You’d like to stay there forever . . . And that’s it. That’s the deep-sea diver’s complex.”
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