You probably don't remember me. That's OK, because I definitely haven't forgotten about you.

You made me hurt, whether you were aware of it or not. Maybe it was something you said, or someone you took from me, I don't remember. I do know that it hurt, and those scars are still with me. Your disapproving looks and constant reminders of why I wasn't good enough still haunt me to this day. Even when words never left your mouth, your silence was enough. I haven't forgotten what happened, and I'll always be stuck with it until the day that I die. Sometimes, the tiniest thing reminds me of you, whether it be a song, a place or a date. You always pop up in my mind. I still remember the pain. I fear that pain. I desperately try to avoid it. It still finds its way back to me, though. The old wounds still hurt. It's a dull, annoying pain, but it's still there. I remember staring at the face of a very lonely girl in the mirror on my bedroom wall and breaking down because I believed I wasn't good enough for anything or anyone. I genuinely believed that. I thought that I was what you made me feel: worthless.

I remember hating myself because of the stupidest things. I hated the way my smile looked, how tall I was and what I wore. So many hours spent crying alone. So many months spent finding comfort in the fact that it would one day be over, and I would be away from you. My history seemed to like me, though. It always managed to claw its way back and manifest itself in someone new. Everywhere I go, I still remember your faces. Yes, there were many of you, but you all made me feel the same way.

Less than.

Years have passed since then, but I still remember you. I don't want you to apologize. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I'd rather we continue like this. I like being able to put you in my past. I won't try to forget you, and I hope you still remember me. I don't really want to forget you, either. You see, I've spent a lot of time alone with myself. I've thought about my past a lot. It does hurt, but in a weird way, it heals. People say not to dwell on the past. I don't believe that's healthy. Your past doesn't define you, of course, but it's a very important part of who you are. It's very cliché, I know, but hear me out. My past with you didn't start well, and it certainly isn't a happy memory of mine. It's strange, though. I do still think about you, but rather than the pain you caused, I think of the good things you gave me. You helped me. Some of you gave me wisdom in choosing friends, while others showed me that being cautious is not always a bad thing. You gave me optimism. You gave me strength. You helped me prove that I can stand, and I can fight.

I simply want to say thank you. You're probably wondering why. It's quite simple, actually. You taught me many things, both good and bad. I wouldn't change what you did to me, and I wouldn't try to fight back. If everything had been easy, I wouldn't be the person I am today. You helped me grow. You taught me that it's never OK to let someone be lonely. You gave me a taste of the worst kind of pain there is, and in turn, taught me how to deal with it. You made me more compassionate, more understanding and more empathetic. You taught me that life is for living. You showed me that my life is short, and I need to make the most of it. You gave me motivation. I'll never be able to relive the years I spent drowning in pity and self-hatred, but I'm glad I experienced them. I'm glad the scars won't ever go away. They're proof that I've lived. They're proof that I survived. I'm glad you picked me. I'm glad you saw something you didn't like. I'm glad you chose your amusement over my self-image. You taught me more than you could ever take from me, and for that, I'm grateful.

So, to all the people who lied to me, betrayed me, disappointed me and broke me. To everyone who unknowingly helped me grow, and those who tore me down. To the girl that I trusted. To the boy that I loved. To the group who left me out. To the teacher who played favorites. To the adults who believed I was worth nothing. To the classmates who started that rumor. To the people who made me believe I was an ugly, disgusting, abnormal mistake:

Thank you.