I look back at my old self and see how much things have changed.
I was damaged. I was a scared little girl, in a world too cold for her. I was trapped. I was alone and felt so tortured. I was outside of my own fucking body, living as a hollowed out shell of a 15 year old. I was in so much pain and reading back on those deadly fucking thoughts, I was transported into a place filled with weed, misery, and toxicity. I weep at the troubles of my younger self, knowing she still lingers deep inside me. I may have changed, but I know that same fucking monster continues on just in a new form. I'll never be able to rid myself of the brokenness. I'll never be able to rid myself of the sadness. I'll never be able to shake the feeling of what I once was, because it's what I still am. My mind was filled with thorns that pricked at every possible chance I ever had to blossom. The outsiders never made it easier for me. I know that everything that happened, did for a reason, and those reasons fueled me. My bones ached for the pain I was receiving. I wanted it. I loved it. I needed it. I needed to find a way to free myself of the numbness.
Now, looking back, I know I am free. But I'll never truly know the taste of freedom.
