I’m 45 now. If you would have told me at half my age how angry and sad I am in general, I probably would’ve been very confused and broken hearted. I guess the time is important for the desensitization.

I’m 40, half a life ago I was 8 years pre-lung transplant. I’d be shocked that I did it at all, I was very anti-transplant for various reasons but having kids I love enter my life when I was 22 changed my mind, which would also be a shocker since I was also anti kids at 20, but I’d also be shocked it worked, one of the main reasons I was against it was I was sure if I got one I would suffer even more and die anyway. So I guess at the end of the day, I’d be mostly surprised I wasn’t dead.

How boring I am

The American experiment ending like this, with not one person standing up for it.

The amount of weed I smoke. Teenage-me was still in the process of deprogramming from D.A.R.E. propaganda. She wouldn’t have expected to become a full-blown stoner in her 30s.

I’ve always had a strong memory, and unfortunately it feeds into my anxiety and depression. Weed definitely impacts my memory, but it’s a benefit - normally, all the stupid little things of the day would torture me. I’d be overanalyzing every word I said, worrying over social mistakes that nobody else even remembers happening. It’s a mental process that only serves to hurt me, and that I raw-dogged sober for most of my life. Weed lets me break that cycle, change my focus, and not remember all the dumb little details that don’t actually matter, but that would otherwise keep me awake at night.

As a teen, I would’ve struggled to understand that there could be benefits to marijuana. She would’ve just thought the self-torture was normal. Life’s weird like that sometimes.

Half a life time ago, I was 20 and the only thing different between then and now that really would surprise 20 year old me would be hearing I have ADHD, BPD, and am autistic since I wasn’t diagnosed until my 30s.

26, to my 13 self would be wack. I came out at 17, married at 24, divorced at 25. Still the same kid looking for friends and a family. I would’ve believed my parents would be homophobic at 13 and they still are at 26. I dropped out of college, didn’t marry my girlfriend. I’m a chef now, I studied hard to follow my dad into an IT career, that went no where fast.

My 13 yo self would think I’m a loser and an addict. He was very dumb and a 13 yo, lmao wtf do they know.

I’m a woman now.

Well 15 year old me, you’ll figure it out in about two years.

I would be surprised that I’m with the person I’m with, living where I am.

How badly everything has gone.

The hair loss would be news, but I wouldn’t really be surprised. I knew it happens.

50, second marriage.

40 now. At 20 I was a know-it-all crusader against having kids and now my two children are the absolute center of my universe.

I can’t even begin to explain the kind of joy these two kids create out of thin air. It’s simply beyond my ability to describe how much I love them and how grateful that I am to have met a woman I loved so much that it seemed wrong to not want to bring more of her into the world.

I am so fucking overwhelmed that my life turned out the way it has that I suffer from hidden imposter syndrome because I just don’t feel like I deserve to be this happy.

All I can do is try to be a worthy father and husband.

I’m 29. I’d be surprised I’m still alive.

When I was a depressed and extremely suicidal teenager, I decided that if nothing had improved for me by the time I was 20, then I’d kill myself then. When I set that time limit, I already had a couple of failed attempts under my belt (unbeknownst to my family), and desperately wanted to die. However, I felt guilty for the pain that would cause, which is why the attempts only happened when I reached a crisis point.

I had read suicide support guidance that advised to try and put distance between yourself and the suicidal feelings, because even just a day or two can help to stabilise the situation. Well my response was to take this logic and apply it to an extreme level, with significant spite attached. My logic was that if indeed things were just as hopeless when I was 20, I would feel justified in killing myself, and fuck anyone who would begrudge me my escape at that point. I didn’t require things to be better-better by the time I was 20, I just needed something to change to show that it was still worth fighting.

Well, here I am, almost 10 years later, and I’m still alive. still struggle with suicidal ideation on a regular basis, and I suspect I will always have to keep an eye on my mental health. However, nowadays, when I get low, I don’t actively want to die like I used to. Instead, it’s usually a case of “I don’t want to die, but I know I can’t live like this”.

Ironically, I think that planning my death saved my life. There were countless times over my late teens where I would’ve been at risk of making another attempt on my life, but instead would self soothe by counting down how much time I had left to ensure. It did mean that my early 20s were a bit confusing, as I was living a life that I had planned without ever expecting that I’d get that far. And I still sort of feel like these past 10 years have been a massive bonus level that I’m half expecting to be swept away from me at any moment, but I’m still here.

There are other things I could have replied to this question with, but nothing will trump my surprise at still being alive (and wanting to be)

That I could love myself. That I’d be a productive member of society. That I’d be a square.

That if I told you, I’d have to kill you.