I guess I haven’t been doing very good lately. Not for a while, now that I think about it. The worst thing about these feelings is how they can lay dormant for so long and come back with a vengeance. This all started when I began to remember. Maybe before then, because I always felt something was wrong but I didn’t know the name for it until I was much older.
People have always looked at me like I was a loser and a nobody and maybe I am a loser. I’m not here to argue that point, but what happened to me happens to more than nobody. I’ve only told two people about it in my life but recently I can’t stop thinking about it and reliving the instances from my childhood. I wish the memories would go away again. I don’t want to deal with this and I want to forget this happened to me. There is no beautifully cinematic way to deal with this, I know because I have the scars to prove it.
Some days, I am so proud of my supposed strength, but most other days I am reminded of my wounds opened to the air around me. This has led to so much badness in my life and I want him to know how much he messed me up. I was seven and I just wanted a loving surrogate family that didn’t stay up screaming at each other over financial problems until four in the morning. I guess I got that. I got that and more. But Jesus, do I wish I would have been strong enough to just stay home those nights.