Last night, you were telling me about how you feel forever without your people. That you feel too weird, too isolated, too ugly to ever come across your own people - not just some sexy Edmontonians - who feel as you do. I'm writing this because I have tangible, empirically verified proof of you being wrong about that. I can guarantee it. I've spent too many nights these past few weeks talking with my friends about feeling too weird, too isolated, too ugly to ever come across our own people for me not to be radicalized to the cause. I've heard them all tell me exactly what you've told me: to have been fat kids, to have had seemingly unshareable interests, to have once been alone. Now, Madison, I might have never been truly alone like you and everyone else have, but I feel like you. We became such good friends because of this. You have been so important to me because you taught me it was okay to feel like this. So, I can not let you surrender to it. I can not let you give up on yourself. Your people are out there. Not just my friends (who welcome you with open arms), but your own island of misift toys. I promise, and I'll bet everything on it. You're in the States. Your country *makes* weirdos. It fucking sucks that they're not really around you now. But, lurking somewhere around the Poconos, or further east to the cities, people who feel like you are out there. And just when you accept that you'll never find them is the moment they will find you. It happened to me, and it will happen to you. I promise.
