I had finally been happy. I had not felt happiness, excitement, or peace since I was 9. I left and was happy. I had to come back though. You know how gut-wrenching it is to feel as if you are loved and appreciated by complete strangers and then be plunged back into the hatred and brokenness that is your home. Broken people can not help broken people. Growing up with broken people has taught me to keep to myself.
Don't speak up. Don't seek help. Stay unseen. Don't wear clothes that catch the eye because everything man see's he takes. To not be taken you must be alone. Don't trust. Don't love. Men are to be feared. They should see you as a nobody because no one wants a nobody. No one loves a nobody. I didn't realize I was somebody. I didn't realize I can make people laugh. I didn't know that people valued my thoughts and feelings. I didn't know I had a voice.
I didn't know that life is so much more bearable when people want to help and not hide or when you get comforted by hugs and not have to comfort yourself by repeatedly whispering "it's ok". I didn't know. It might have been better not knowing because I did not realize how much bliss I had from this ignorance.
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