#crumbled brain

Dear person(s) I hate,

I’m sorry. I do not want to hate. And to be honest I don’t even hate you. I hate the things you’ve done to me. You’ve made years of my life to hell. I can’t even tell what you’ve done because I can’t remember most of it. But I remember how it made me feel. And it made me feel worthless. Worthless of love, friendship, affection and attention. I’m still learning to accept being given these things.

I can’t remember a time before you took away my ability to enjoy because it all started before I could really understand what you were doing.

I never knew you weren’t allowed to do and say such things to me. I thought I was normal. I was told, boys peeved girls. But I wasn’t told when it stops being just peeving and when it starts being abuse. Emotional and physical abuse.

I remember coming home and telling my mom for the first time that I got beat up on my way home. I remember how she told me to write it down and how silly I felt writing this. I felt like I was exaggerating things. I felt like it was nothing and I made it everything. I remember the pictures I painted, the poems I wrote - not word for word but I know what they were about.

I remember how the teachers did nothing or even supported you by telling me I was a liar.

I remember the letter I wrote to my parents that I wanted to leave. I remember how my father told me he would move immediately if only there weren’t so many things that kept him here. Now I know it wouldn’t be possible. And maybe it wouldn’t even been good because if we moved then I wouldn’t be where I am right now, in an environment that accepts and supports me.

If we moved I couldn’t show you what I’ve made of the little girl you used to call names and punch whenever no one was there to help me.

Cleaning Rag, Scourge, Germ, Bacilli, Glanders, Snoty…

I remember them. I don’t remember your face(s). But if I did I could not go anywhere near you without being frightened as hell. And yes, it’s been years, yes, you may not even recognize me when you see me on the street but I still struggle with all the insecurities. I still can’t go to public events without somebody I trust, I can’t go to a store I once saw (one of) you, I can’t talk to new people without being at least a little drunk, I can’t interact with people without feeling the urge to ask them if they still want to be friends with me.

But no I don’t think I hate you. I do not hate your person. If you would come to me and maybe even say sorry and just talk to me like I was a normal person you didn’t harass for at least 4 years, maybe we could start again and maybe, maybe we could become friends.

Again, I’m sorry. I’m not even sure for what.

The mere thought of you makes me feel sorry.

Best Regards