My life has been anything but easy. It seemed like I could never catch a break. One thing after another after another.
I must’ve pissed off someone somewhere in another life because the amount of shit that has been thrown at me is a little overwhelming.
Granted, some of it was my own doing but not always.
I didn’t mean to be stuck in an emotionally abusive household for the greater portion of my life.
I didn’t mean to be in a toxic relationship for two years.
I didn’t mean to get kicked out of my house.
I didn’t mean to never be allowed on the property I grew up in ever again.
I didn’t ask for any of that, but life stuck her middle finger up at me and did it anyway.
And for the longest time, I blamed myself. Growing up I was always wrong. I was never allowed to defend myself because if I did I was being “disrespectful” or “giving attitude.”
The result was an extremely self-destructive young girl.
I self-harmed and acted out in any way I could. Partly out of spite and partly because I needed to have some sort of resemblance of control over my own life.
Everything I did was controlled by a man I had the unfortunate pleasure of living in the same house with.
At one point he controlled what I wore, because yes, clothes are a privilege.
I bounced from one emotionally abusive relationship to the next. Where again what I wore and who I was friends with was controlled by a boy who I, at the time, thought was the love of my life.
But pretty eyes and strong arms couldn’t keep me from having enough and walking away.
I still blame myself for all of it sometimes. I must have done something to deserve this. This is all my fault. It’s what I deserve.
I accepted that I was a fuck up and everything was always my fault.
Until I realized I wasn’t and that while I did need to take responsibility for some things, others were in no way my fault. It took me a long time to realize that, and sometimes, I forget.
So, I busted my ass to prove myself to myself.
I am now a senior in college graduating a semester early after transferring to a university where most people struggle to graduate in four years.
I have a nearly 4.0 GPA. I have my own apartment, a great internship and a boyfriend that I truly want to spend the rest of my life with.
And for the first time in a very long time, I can say that I am happy with my life.
I pushed through the bullshit and the abuse and the trauma and did what I was meant to do: succeed.
And I’m damn fucking proud of myself for it.