You’re dyslexic, you numpty. Your teachers are small minded and cruel, and you are just as smart as your friends. Your parents will not understand, and that’s ok. Let it go, their life has been hard, but they made yours better where they could. Forgive them, and move away. Forgive yourself.
You’ll eventually get a distinction at MA, it’ll work out. ( but don’t drop out, it’ll be ok, just ask for help)!
Travel far more. Go to S America when it’s offered. Paint relentlessly. Wear what you damn well like. Do whatever you want to your hair. (And if a man tells you not to…run away)!
Recognise the true friendships and loves of your life and nurture those.
Maybe stick with that beautiful Irish boy. He will be in your dreams and the corner of your consciousness for the whole of your life…it might work out.
understand almost everything passes. You will survive horrendous unsurvivable things that shouldn’t be possible, then years later joy is just there, where you left it, (but understand life doesn’t care and will throw something else randomly).
Because of this, plant a garden, buy a hammock. Use it. Listen to jazz. Buy wine. Find a studio.
Have lots of good sex. Tell him what works. buy a vibrator. (You prude). Don’t ever ever fake an orgasm (unless really very tired).
Your children will be beautiful little people, (and big people before you can blink) but don’t let them define you, and don’t turn into your mother! Travel with them. paint them more often.
make photo albums.
your 40s will be a fog, you survive. You will be ok. Different, but really ok. The colours will come back just as bright.
Take the bloody HRT, it works for you!
Read everything. Go to every single gig. Always always keep a sketchbook. Don’t stop painting, it works out.
(that was cathartic. Thanks op)!
oh, and if you get back on that board you will impress your teen but break your wrist. Do. Not. Do. It. You are 50, not 15. Numpty.