My Story

 

A part of me can't really believe that I did it.

I don't talk about what happened back then because it isn't who I am now. I don't talk about it because I don't want sympathy. More importantly, I don't want pity. I am a happy person. I am a strong person. Just like every single one of us, I have my baggage, my bullshit. It is not who I am. It doesn't define me. And it is really important to me that it doesn't.

I debated sharing this here. For a long time. This story was submitted months ago, but there is a long list of people who have stories to tell. When I got the email from Maggie, I thought I was going to have a panic attack. Oh. This is happening. I am doing this.

I chose to tell my story because I have never told it before. Not in it's entirety. I have told bits and pieces and not to many people at all. I have never told anyone of any kind of authority. I did not speak up. I did not do anything to stop what was happening. To me, my mother, my stepsisters.

Maybe I give a voice to someone who felt just like me.

Maybe I make someone feel less alone.

Maybe I feel less alone.

Regardless, it happened. I am stronger because of it, and weaker as well.

I am broken and whole.

Happy and sad.

But, please don't feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity. I simply want to say, that, yes, these things happened to me. It doesn't change the person you know, the person who blogs here. It's a small part of a very complicated, very erratic person.

http://violenceunsilenced.com/erratic/