The beginning

Every day for the past 40 years I’ve felt like the little girl who ran upstairs to pack my clothes in a black garbage bag so my mom could take me home with her. Why didn’t she love me? Why did she keep leaving me. I rushed because she said it was time to go, I flew down the stairs of my grandma’s house and ran outside to get in the car. It was too late, she was gone again. It makes sense, when I asked her why she named me a name so close to her own she said it was the name she used when she ran away. It felt like she was always running away from me. So many lies over the years I’ve been told so many memories that I have and am told they are untrue. I couldn’t possibly remember when I was too young for it to have caused me harm still today in my 40s. I remember things differently than what happened. I’m so dramatic, I’ve always been a cry baby. That’s what they always said. My disordered eating started at such a young age being told I was fat and ugly with no friends going waaa waaa waaa all the way home. It was a joke they say. Jokes are funny not abusive. Why didn’t anyone ever protect me? Why didn’t anyone save me? Why didn’t she just abort me? I didn’t choose this life, I didn’t choose to live with the damage to my soul these selfish people did to me. I never asked for any of it and I’m not even allowed to talk about it to anyone because someone might get offended. Someone will just tell me to get over it. All I want is to feel peace in my heart, to feel some sort of resolution. Not feel like I’m fumbling everyday of my life.

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