I don’t want to be a victim, I don’t like the word abuse. I avoid its use. I avoid the stereotype of being a victim because bad things have happened, and yet I don’t know quite what to call these bad memories. Perhaps they don’t need a name. Maybe that’s better for now. I understand that nothing is ever in vain, at least not now.
I was always angry, and now that has been replaced by overwhelming sorrow. That’s alright, though, because there’s always another tomorrow. That’s what tomorrows are for. That is what my mother always told me. And that the right thing always happens. That’s something I know to e true.
I trust these things to sort themselves out, and find myself willing to take on the sorrow like a war on the battlefield. Not allowing it to make me battered, but still allowing myself to feel everything that needs to be felt. Coming to terms with the past is something incredibly difficult to do. It’s something not many people can stand to go through. Some just stay locked in the past, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to be that person; I wasn’t going to be that girl crying in the bathroom stall because I can’t hold it together in public. I know that I’m better than that, and I deserve more than that.
Still, when I cry, it is alarming to everyone nearby. Rarely ever do I shed a tear, and when I do, it can be frightening to hear. To see me break down is something I don’t like to happen, but in these days I’m finding that the loved ones I hold close can provide me with the best of comfort. And perhaps the best lesson of all: once I’m finished crying and have dusted myself off, I’m alright.
I will always be okay.