[ WP ] Write a letter to the you ten years ago . ( If you do n't feel comfortable posting it online , feel free to keep it to yourself . )

Dear Kayla 
 
 That name has always perked up my interest. I ca n't believe I've managed to go this far with it. With this change. And I do n't know if you'll have completed it by the time you get I read this, but I want you to know that I'm proud. I'm proud that we managed to take the first step of many. And even if I do n't get to the end, if all of my thoughts catch up to me once again and strangle me, if I do n't get accepted, I want to remind us both that any other way would n't have worked out. We both know it. 
 
 But right now, if I look around right now. I know I'm happy. I've got loving parents. The best brother I could ever have, who is visiting in a couple days. A supportive councillor, and the best guy in the whole world who knows my secret. And he's there for me. And he talks to me. And I actually get to be myself with him, which is not something I can do with anyone else. And you know who he is. A couple days ago, I pointed out how we will all inevitably forget 80 % of people we meet and interact with before adulthood. But I know he will always be in my memory. Even if I'm not in his. 
 
 Knowing myself, I wo n't change much from me now to you. You, just like me, are most likely putting off getting to bed, and you're planning on staying up late. And you'll shake your head, because you know you'll never change. I know I'll never change, at least in that way. But times are changing, both of us know it. Inevitable, I'll change. A lot. I will hopefully be on puberty blockers by 2nd term of next year. I wonder how that will work out. Eventually I'll be on anti-androgens, then on oestrogen later. 
 
 With so much time between us, you must think that we're strangers. We are, technically. Time can do that. So I'll jog the memory. Currently I'm scared. I'm scared that someone will find me out, and shout it for everyone to hear. I'm scared that maybe tomorrow my best friend will not accept me. Or worse, tell me that he does n't care. I'm riddled with fear of late, and it does n't feel right. But if you're reading this, you made it. I made it. We made it. And I want you to keep pushing, most of all. Be you. And I'll do my best in the meantime. 
 
 And this will most likely be the last time I refer to myself by this name. So here goes. 
 
 From 
 Caleb
