[This article was a written by Amy at Every Word You Say, and is being shared with her permission as a guest post]
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
Do you realize you have single-handedly made me cry more times than any other person?
Do you even care?
I remember the day I met you. The Bad Man had just left and then you showed up.
You were so nice back then.
You kept me out of trouble; made me feel safe. You kept me quiet. You spoke to me so gently, and you said you’d help me get out.
Oh, I was so glad to have you with me.
But, then you started to whisper in my ear as I slept.
You showed me all those times The Bad Man hurt me, and you told me it was my fault. If I had just stayed quiet he wouldn’t have hit me. If I were invisible I wouldn’t have been attacked.
It was my fault. All my fault.
“My friends hated me. My family secretly wanted me dead.” It would be easier for them that way, right? That’s what you said.
Everyone I met was out to hurt me. Every fingertip on my skin was a knife to my neck.
But, you were always there for me, to keep me safe.
I stopped going outside, avoided mirrors, and stopped talking to my family.
You told me I deserved every slash across my thighs. That every burn, bloody knuckle, and bruise were the only way to prove my dedication to you.
You were my only friend.
But, you didn’t count on love, did you?
To be fair, I didn’t see it coming either. I definitely didn’t expect it in the form of an 18 year old boy.
You started whispering as I slept again. “He was going to hurt me. He only wanted me for one thing.” That’s what The Bad Man wanted, so why would this boy be any different?
But, you didn’t count on him whispering back. “You’re beautiful”. “I’m so lucky to have you”. “I love you”.
You didn’t like that, did you?
So, you threw a tantrum. You made me breathless, and you made me cry. You made me weak.
Yet, he still held me close.
We fought you for so long and guess what…
You still come and visit me sometimes, but that’s okay, because you can’t destroy me anymore.
You can’t turn my dreams into twisted flashbacks. You can’t force me to paint my legs with blood. You can’t tell me I’m worthless…
Because I’m not.
I am worth everything.
I am intelligent, beautiful, kind, strong, and I am loved.
There’s not a single fucking thing that you can do about it.
Lots of love, hugs, and kisses,
Much thanks to Amy for that beautiful article!
She’s the first guest writer of many to come, and I can’t express how grateful for her contribution with helping exactlywhatyouneed.org getting kicked off. Make sure you check her blog out at Every Word You Say and show her love!
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