As I looked at my tired, tired hazel eyes in my brown, squared mirror. I began noticing my physical health was starting to deteriorate.
My once bright brown freckles on my very pale nose no longer shined the way they use to. My long hair had knots that clumped throughout my head and the dandruff was noticeably white on my faded black tee. Oh, man was that smelly, black tee filthy with all sorts of questionable stains.
At this point in time, it was probably almost two full weeks since I showered. And not because I didn’t want to. I desperately wanted the warm, steamy water to touch my dirty body and cleanse my soul away. But I convinced my tired brain that I just physically couldn’t stand for the whole three minutes.
Every damn thing was just too hard. But as I starred at my puffy, black eyes, I told myself tomorrow would be the day I washed my face. I probably told that lie to myself for at least three months.
Now I would bathe, but I hated my life while doing it and I would go into a rage every time I was “forced” to take care of myself. I just wanted to die. And I was too much of a coward to do so or at least that is what I convinced myself I was. A coward. Because I wanted to die. I wanted to die because I no longer felt like I had meaning in my life. I just lost my entire family and the only world I’d ever known.
Long story short, my adoptive father decided he was going to videotape me nude without my consent, and upload the videos in hopes that I would want to give him affection in return. I told my mother and like many, I didn’t have the fairytale outcome. My mother chose my father. Her love for me became nonexistent when her image was at stake.
So hence the feeling of wanting to die. And it didn’t matter, at the time, who was there to support me. I wasn’t alone on the outside, I had love from others around me. But none of that mattered because I didn’t love myself. My father took that away the minute he decided to take my privacy away and to violate my body.
I hated myself. And honestly sometimes to this day, a little over three years later, I still struggle. Triggers, memories, and flashbacks haunt my brain, but unfortunately for us Warriors, I’ve learned it’s apart of our healing.
Without struggle, we won’t truly heal from our past. And honestly, I am grateful to remember something from my childhood, even if it’s haunting most of the time. I’ve never really experienced the happy family memories with friends or loved ones because quite frankly most I don’t remember.
I know we would go to exciting places, but I remember being hateful and grouchy. As I allow my body to heal, I am slowly piecing together my childhood soul and allowing her to heal. And I am just going to say right now, most of society will think this way of thinking is bullshit, but just let their negativity be.
Those individuals obviously have never been in your certain situation or still living in denial about their own. Both are not worth your breath or time. I’ve come to realize you only need you to survive, but allow those who want to support you help.
But always trust your gut and follow what your heart desires, no one else’s, you have the right to be selfish in certain situations. For a long, while I allowed others to dictate my decisions and because of that, I’ve made far too many mistakes. Learn from me and chose yourself, always. YOU come first. YOU are the only one that has your back a 110% and don’t YOU dare forget that.