Seeing myself in what I wrote publicly over the last ten years is a mind trip. I never showed you the abuse that happened. I never showed you the guilt that seeps in, deep in my bones.
Oh Little one, you shouldn't have had to carry the burden you did. you acted so hard to possibly be accepted because who you were was not acceptable. the self-hate you carried because of not knowing who you were was worthy of love. striving for a gods perfection - to people who didn't even see the words they were saying were killing people?
your friend who was raped and murdered at 13.
the friend that was ostracized for a young pregnancy.
the ones who were hidden and whispered about for their queerness
while the ones who hit their children were protected.
when your grandmother died and someone said it was gods divine plan- payback.
the three "friends" who tried to kill you.
the ones who thought they could assault the queer out of you even though you didn't even know what that was yet.
you cared for so many people, who cared for you?
your father who was gone, or drunk. does he know you?
your mother, in so much pain she didn't see she wasn't feeding you, so you learned to feed everyone except yourself.
your education, papers you printed out yourself, never graded because you were teaching your siblings how to read.
Three suicide attempts, never noticed.
blamed for your own coping mechanisms.
I see you, darling, swearing off men and love so young because you didn't trust them.
identifying as an adult at ten- because in all but age you had to be. you should have had a chance to be free. you should have been allowed to make mistakes. to run in skirts, to fight and play.
I see you so desperately trying to convince people to love you. the perfect worker. the perfect daughter. the perfect tool.
never having a nickname. not allowing yourself to break until they broke you. ADHD, chronic pain, and depression are pushed down and lashed out against instead of addressed.
I understand why you're tired, love. You've been strong for so long. it's ok to be soft. it's ok to rest. You're worthy of help. you don't have to do it all yourself. you don't have to be perfect. you can fail and still be worthy of love. it's ok to acknowledge you're in pain. you can ask for help, the people worthy of being around will not begrudge it to you.
I understand that little game you used to play, where your parents died and you were in charge of caring for your siblings. It's easier to pretend than to understand why your parents weren't there for you. they didn't even realize they weren't, Little One. they did what they knew. it's ok to forgive and remember.
I see your need to run away. I see your need for pain, thinking someone might notice you.
I see you trying so hard to save everyone else while you were drowning.
I always thought my dreams of drowning were a vision of how I was going to die. little did I know that it was an allegory of how I was already drowning. You're a stronger swimmer than you think. you made it out.
out of the stagnant pit, they call a place of worship. out of the gripped hand they call love.
funny how freedom feels like a freefall when you've never used your wings.
Maybe now that I know who I am, the next chapter will be easier.
27 was supposed to be the day I finished my story. maybe just maybe it's actually the day it starts being mine.
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