Sometimes I don’t even believe myself. I think there’s no way ALL those things could have happened to me. Sometimes I worry I’m making it all up.

It’s scary when you question if it actually happened or not. That’s when you know it fucked you up so bad you tried to erase it without knowing. But you still feel the ache, the weight, the dirtiness of it all. And it never leaves.

You were forcing me to feel guilty about having wounds, you pretended my emotions weren’t real, you dramatized your most tiny problems until they looked more important than my whole life struggles, you punished me over and over again for “not following your rules” and you had the fucking nerve to pretend that I was the toxic one.

One by one, I drowned all the people I had been.