This may seem a bit strange.
Well, you may just have to deal with it.
Yes, that's right. Deal with it.
I'm just writing this to thank you, really.
Without you, I wouldn't be who I am.
Don't take this the wrong way, the cheesy way. You were certainly not my inspiration – maybe a warning, not definitely not an inspiration.
You were a hell.
A devastation. A catastrophe. You were the world, falling on my shoulders, and slowly suffocating me in the idea that I wasn't good enough. That I would never be good enough.
Oh, let's not be dramatic, you're thinking. So you had it rough. So did everyone. Join the freakin' club.
And maybe you're right. Maybe I am being dramatic.
But then again, maybe I'm not. Maybe the hell you put me through for those six months – maybe that really changed me into who I am today. Maybe you were my first mistake. Maybe, in the dark corner of my mind where I had to learn to pick myself up after you pushed me down, maybe that's when I grew up. Maybe I am a better person having met you, having survived you. Maybe I will be stronger when I am older, because of this.
There's a line in a song by Good Charlotte that goes, "They all want to know why I'm so broken."
Broken. God, what a great word. Just saying the word inspires the feelings of hopelessness, of despair. Broken.
You don't need to ask my why I'm so broken, because you know why.
Because you broke me, obviously.
I have always been old for my age, a bit of a loner. I like to write and to read; I like to lock myself in a room for days, with nothing but strawberries and chicken noodle soup and just write, until I forget the sound of my own voice. Until I forget what it's like to be around people again, and for the next few days I will blink in the sunlight. I have always been old for my age.
But you made me feel young, and we were young together. You made me feel like I was alive and I was addicted to you.
But then you broke me.
There's no need to ask you why you did it, because I know why. Because you could. Because I didn't matter. Because you were young and irresponsible. There are a thousand 'becauses', each with a reason more insignificant and insulting then the next.
I am going to stop rambling now, and I will tell you my story – I will tell it in full, in the nitty-gritty details, because hindsight is twenty-twenty and God, I should have seen the signs.
I was sixteen, and I was broken.