And the very fear that makes you want to die, ends up the same as what keeps you alive

I have made it no secret that I was a victim of child abuse.  (Each link is a different post, for the record. Feels weird linking myself, but I’m not writing everything back out) And it sucks. There’s no easy way to say it. It sucks. And it’s defined so much of who I am.

I’ve read people say that they wish they were the person they were before their abuse. They grieve that person. But it’s not something I can do. I don’t know who I was before I was abused. I don’t know who I could have been. Would I still be a feisty, smartass Hufflepuff? Would I still be loyal and protective of my friends? Part of me thinks the hell I lived through is what made me want to protect others so much (and now I am thinking of Kingdom Hearts…cuz my friends are my power, so I protect them blah blah blah)

While part of me wishes to all hell I hadn’t been abused, would I be a voice for abused children if I hadn’t? Would I be trying like hell to make a difference? I don’t know. And that’s so complicated. The same thing that makes me suicidal, the same thing that haunts my memories… my nightmares, my flashbacks… is my same fighting force. The same thing that  propels me and keeps me going. The same thing that is my lifeblood. It’s keeping me alive and making me want to die all in one. And it’s such a weird feeling.

All at once, what haunts me is what fuels me. What holds me back is what propels me forward. And that’s just how it is going to be.

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