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.