I was 25 when I wrote my last letter to you. I am 27 now. I was finally diagnosed with lupus last year, although my symptoms have remained relatively mild. I have even less energy than I did two years ago. Sometimes I feel like an old woman, even though I still dance up on stage to your music ... in my head.
No one told me that life would suck so much sometimes. I kind of wish I would have had a heads up, someone to say, "enjoy life now while it's still enjoyable." I really had not given a thought to what might happen as I get older, or the dying of youthful vanity. I am no longer part of the carefree crowd. A party or a club repels me instead of drawing me in, as either used to do. And I'm only 27. How will I feel when I'm 47?
Have you noticed, Gaga? Has it happened to you yet? The changes in skin texture, the lines that appear from nowhere, a mixture of sun damage and side-sleeping? All the more reason to don your costumes and give it all you've got.
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