A Letter to Me

Dear Little Me

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with rage at you. I am so fucking angry at you. You always trusted the wrong people. You always let people use you, hurt you and hurt us. You were NEVER enough. Not strong enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not quiet enough, not polite enough, not fast enough, not once, not ever.

I am angry because it hurts. All those memories hurt. Memories of the lies you were told (and believed for so long), memories of Mom, sleeping in a drugged stupor on the couch while you tried to be the adult, care for your sis and yourself-you at the grand age of five. And Six. And Seven and so on. Memories of his yelling voice, slurred with drink and frustration, of her yelling voice, filled with hysteria and madness. Memories of his sad smile, her vindictive one. Memories of bad people hurting us, trying to hurt sis. Memories of abandonment, of chaos, of pain and loneliness. Those memories hurt, little girl. And they are yours yet you keep on spilling them to me.

I am angry because you love your parents still. You love them, and the mean grandmother and the cliché pedophile uncle. You love them, and that pisses me off. Hate them you stupid little girl. They are not worthy of love, you do not need them. They do not love you, yet you love them.

I am angry because you still today rationalize it all away. Blah blah blah, those poor bad guys didn't mean it, they were drunk, Mom was sick, it's not her fault, uncle was raised by HER that twisted, mean woman.. Blah blah. Not their fault, huh. Whose fault is it, little girl? Cuz it sure as fuck wasn't yours. Don't kid yourself, they made a fucking choice. They made that choice over and over and over and over. They are to fucking blame for what they did, quite making it sound like anything other than what it was. It was abuse, not some fucking mistake.

I am angry because you let them hurt you. Grandma's words are stones that were flung at you. “Good girls don't let boys touch them” is a bullshit phrase and yet you can still hear her words, see her face as she sat there, sewing and lecturing you all on the craptastic rape apologia message of what good girls do. Why do you let her stupid ass words have weight? I am angry because you told. YOU TOLD, and it made it worse. You knew better, but You told, and you were weak. You told, and got us in so much fucking trouble. You told, and the punishment, to be forced to apologize to him for tattling, broke something in us, and THAT little girl is on you.

I am hurt because your pain fills me any time I give it a chance. It clings to my skin, taints me. Your pain lingers in the air around me like an invitation to all predators near and far- LOOK AT ME!!! it screams, I AM VULNERABLE!! Your pain is a lump in my throat, a heat in my chest, a lead ball in my gut. Every single time I let my guard down, there you are. Waiting to give me this pain, showing me the hurt, making me cry for you because you never could.

Fuck... you never did cry, come to think of it. You were always wide eyed, pleasant empty smile. Why didn't you cry?

I am hurt because I love you. It hurts my heart that I can't go back and protect you, this big me as your big sister, your mother, your loving aunt. The thought of you, so little, so helpless, so fucking alone hurts me, child, because you are in my heart the way no one else can ever be.

I hurt because I love you, yet the day you thought your soul died never leaves me alone, instead fills me with pain, with fear that you will feel that again.

I love you. I love the compassion you show as you struggle to forgive those who harmed you, to understand the why's and wherefores of their reasoning when they did inexplicable evil things. I love the strength of you as you stood, terrified, in front of sis, making sure she was never hurt. I love the optimism you harbour, for what seems like no reason at all. I mean, what reason did you have to believe that they would learn, change, love you? Yet you clung, filled with hope for the future. I love that you believe. You believe in yourself and the world. Every time I stumble, angry or hurt, you are there. That small smile, eyes wide with that mix of wonder and pain, reminding me that there is beauty out there, pushing me to find it.

I love you little girl. I will protect you. I hope someday you will trust me to be here, keeping you safe, the way I trust you to be there, helping me to be strong.

~It's a journey... Thank you for being with me on it.