I’m going to be honest with you (as if I’m not already!)
I am 5 years old inside. Inside of me lives this little girl that LOVES to laugh and joke and cry and scream and throw tantrums and eat FRUIT ROLL UPS and ‘steal’ M&M’s from the cupboard.
As I write this, I am currently doing adult things like defrosting my smoked salmon on the counter for my snack when Darcy comes home from playing board games tonight. And other adult things like making sure my lunch is packed for tomorrow and if I have enough gas in my car to get to Langley for my monthly meetings. I went to the gym tonight and sweated my ass off, and all I could think about coming home was this blog post that I’ve been wanting to write for a long time.
When I was 6 my Mom took me and my Brother Milan to Seattle to leave everything behind. She left my alcoholic father and she left the world she knew to make a new world for us.
I grew up really fast. I had to take care of my brother when I was young (and he was even younger). Sometimes we had a babysitter and sometimes we didn’t. Aside from the fact that it was a little scary, at the time I never thought anything of it until now. Basically, I lost my childhood. I don’t blame it on my Mom. She had choices to make and these things came with the territory. I’m going to fast forward a little bit..
When I was a little girl, I was abused by my stepfather. Hiding physical and sexual abuse is not something I want to do anymore. For years and years people would wonder why I was in therapy and why I had ‘issues’. Well I’ll tell you what.
I’m 31 years old and not afraid to admit that I was sexually abused and physically abused for many years and I lost my virginity in the worst way any child could. Kids, I grew up real quick.
I was ashamed and I was hurt and tortured and emotionally and physically battered and today I am alive to talk about it. I have problems and issues and I go to therapy because it takes many years to heal from years of this sick and maddening thing that happened. Every day I thought I was going to die.
Hey, you know what? I’ll tell you what I don’t do. I don’t use it as an excuse. I abused drugs. I drank (I still do sometimes), I had promiscuous sex. All of it. I did it. And who knows why I did it. Some people say I did it because I was abused, but then again I know a lot of people who weren’t abused, but still did all these things that you’re supposed to do because you’re ‘fucked up’.
I am proud of myself to day. I’m proud of what I’ve become and where I am and who I’m with and my life and my friends and my family. None of it is perfect, but it’s mine and I love it everyday. Some days, I want to run away because I feel like I can’t handle it, and some days I cry because I am so damn lucky to be where I am today.
I’m not afraid to admit my faults or my short comings. I’m not afraid to admit when I’ve done good and how awesome I think I am. No one should ever be judged for things they had/have no control over. Ever.
I am just thankful for life. That I have it, that I live it and that I know not everyone has the opportunities that I do (or vice versa!)
So what I’m trying to say – is that there are days when I’m 5 years old. Or 8, or 12, or even 15. Because I never had the chance. And today I do.