It gets better

Can we just

When i was 4 I remember crying into my mother because the girls never let me play tag with them. Theyd run around yelling

"You cant get me"

And id just sit there, tears rushing down my face because theyd never let me play. Call me a crybaby but when i was 4, tag was everything.

Then to make matter worst theyd laugh in my face and tell me how ugly i was to them and theyd compare me to a pig. As if i rolled around in the mud all day wagging my curly tail.

One time, we were preparing to dance in dance class when they tripped me and i hit the ground hard. Blood rushing out of my mouth i had a panic attack and burst into tears screaming for my mother, but only screaming hard because she was no where to be found.

They called me names and made me run home crying everyday. Crying into my pillow and hitting my head agasint the wall asking why im not good enough for the other 4 year olds.

Back then all that mattered to me was playing tag with the girls and them accepting me for the Mia i am. But they never accepted the Mia i am.

I dont even think i was me. Maybe someone who tried so hard to be perfect took over. I dont even know.

When i was 6 I remember screaming and throwing fits because my daddy wouldnt come home from the army. I cried everynight asking why he never loved me enough to come home. My mom tried explaining hes doing the country a favor. I thought:

Well where is my favor? This is jellyfish

When i was 8 i finally decided to understand why he didnt come home all day. He only came 5 months and then left. I just wanted my daddy.

When i was 10 i finally was comfy enough to be me. The girls that never invited me to play tag grew apart and one of them even started talking to me. Of course i never replied to her.

When i was 12 we all were old enough to have a social media. Mine wasnt blowing up like all the other girls and i felt ugly and fat. My mother told me they were whores and working for their likes and follows. My mom was always there. You can call me a mommas girl and i wouldnt care. She was my rock.

When i was 15, my rock died. Saying her last goodbye to me as i throw a fit in the hospital and my aunt having to comfort me until i knocked out and woke up in the car. I dont know if i had a bad childhood. Now that im 16 things are diffrent.