Do you think of me? Because I think of you. Often. Your words ring in my ears almost daily. Every photograph of myself is tinged with sadness because all I see are faults you pointed out.
Do you think of me? I think of you often. When I read stories of children taking their own lives because of words spoken, my heart hurts. It hurts because if I hadn’t had the fight inside of me and the strength to get up each day and face you, I could have so easily been another story.
Do you think of me? I think of you often. When raising my children, I teach them to be everything you were not. I teach them to be kind. I teach them to find the lonely child, to seek them out and make friends. I teach them that if they have nothing nice to say, to say nothing.
Do you think of me? I think of you often. When I laugh. When I’m happy. When I’m successful. Because despite the bile and hatred you spewed at me on a daily basis, and despite the mental and emotional scars I’m left with, I realise you lied. I’m not ugly, because nobody with a good heart can ever be such a word. In fact, I’m none of the things you told me I was.
Do you think of me? I think of you often, with the hope that now you see me through the eyes of an adult you can see the hurt you caused. I hope you raise your children to be everything you were not. I hope above all else that you are happy, because I would never wish sadness on anyone. I don’t seek revenge for the girl who felt so broken, I don’t seek retribution for the girl who cried so hard it hurt. I wish better for our children so my babies don’t ever have to hear or see or feel what I did.
Do you think of me? I think of you less, as I’ve achieved and grown, my own accomplishments drown the noise you made. You’re quieter now, less aggressive.
Do you think of me? you’re quieter still. as I rise stronger, daily, bit by bit, your voice is barely a whisper. The scars remain, but unlike physical etchings upon my skin, these run deeper. There to serve a purpose. To remind me how far I’ve come.