Every time I talk to someone who knew me when I was young,
I get that feeling I’ve missed for so long. I feel like a child when I talk to them.
I feel how I felt a long long time ago when everything was still exciting,
and when I breathed the air was satisfying and I wasn’t left gasping
and my nerves sensed everything.
I feel light and full of interest for all things
like I could be sitting with that person just about anywhere, doing anything, and be happy doing it. Because it was different. And still new. And I was a child.
And I get sad because they always talk about IT.
Watching the light in me dim.
Watching me get quieter and thinner and more broken.
Watching who I became.
A girl who literally cried herself to sleep every night for two years.
A girl who stopped eating.
A girl who chased after a person who treated her like shit.
A girl who was weak.
And they all say, you were so strong. You seemed so unmoved. Because they didn’t see anything I exhibited behind closed doors.
And I want to cry because I wish I could be a child again, before the loss of innocence. Before rape. Before my mom’s husband. Before abuse. Before misery that hardened me to an emotionless rock of a person.
And it’s embarrassing.
Lately I’ve been trying not to look back as much as possible. Because even if I don’t feel it a lot I am whole. And I am myself still. And I am alive. And I’m still smart and capable and bright and talented and ambitious and looking back cripples me. But when I talk to them, it’s
I followed you a long time ago before you deleted your other blog. I'm really glad you're back and that you took a break from all the politics and bullshit and focused on yourself. I worried about you but I was really happy when I saw your face again. Love from a trying-not-to-be-creepy stranger.
Shhhhh don’t tell anyone I’m back.
This blog is all personal and I wasn’t comfortable with even a lot of my good tumblr friends knowing it was here, because I can’t even follow the same blogs I used to without spending a ton of time in a pit of despair about the world, or rather a nail-spitting ball of anger.