I have been trying to protect you. (Really, me)

I have been considering writing a blog like this for some time, but there are so many things that come up. So many reasons not to do that, if I give myself the time to think about it.

Mainly, I am afraid my dad will find out. I am afraid his family will find me, and terrorize me in their cold and special way. I am afraid of being judged any more than I already have been, and I am afraid of showing you (whoever you are) who I really am. I am afraid of being vulnerable.

I like the illusion of strength.

I can hypnotize myself into thinking I am strong enough to get through it, it never happened, I really fought back, I am really fine. I am okay. I am okay.

I used to chant that to myself, barely audibly, rocking back and forth on my bed with the rough pink bed spread, and imagine it was true.

I knew that my dad telling me I was a fat ass, and stupid... and more worthless than whale shit, "lazier than whale shit, and even that lies on the bottom of the ocean"... even though I knew it wasn't true...because he had been telling me that for so long, I started to believe it. No, that is a lie. A half-truth. That is another way I hide my weakness from you. I didn't "start to believe it". I knew it. I know it still! I am worthless, and I feel it every day, no matter how hard I try to fight that back. And, even writing this, all I can think is, "C'mon, who gives a shit? Who wants to read your pity-party whiny-ass blog?"

Hopefully no one. Hopefully no one reads it. And I can just sit here, in the privacy of my shoebox apartment in Europe, so far away from the family that pushed me here, and write to empty space. But I need to continue writing. That is the thing. Because, locked inside of me, the writing will kill me. This is a story that needs to be told.