I certainly miss the old me.

It sucked, trust me, it sure did to be who I was. But I was strong, the things I went through made me strong.

I was a really hopeful kid, I’m telling you. I believed in people, I believed in myself, I had enough courage to stand up to anyone who treated others horribly.

Well, all except the person who controlled my life. The one thing that I might have hated about my old self was knowing I hated at all. Hate feeds on hate, and that’s the truth. I thought horrible things about that person, when I really should have been focusing on other things.

I see clearly now, forgiving them. They let me live a lonely life, with fear, and I know what it’s like. I could never shake that from me; the worst thing anyone can go through is the feeling of having absolutely no one to confide in, to cry on, to even touch.

My leaving would have made my abuser lonely; they, who gave me a taste of hell, I couldn’t do back.

The old me would have been fine with leaving them with the same destiny they were going to put me through.

I am ashamed of that.

But there are good points and bad points of both the past and present.

The past was the me who would never give up. The impossible was possible; my mind was such a beautiful thing then. You can’t tell at all–it’s what dreams thrived on. What people would call childish was possible to me.

I mean, I don’t get it. Who are we to say what’s the right path of life and what isn’t? Who are we to instil fear into our future generations, telling them that what awaits their future is a cruel, cold world full of violence and half-hearted romances filled with greed and mind-numbing activities?

You gotta admit–the reason why so many messed up young adults are turning up is because of us. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people complain about previous generations; but that’s the problem. You complain, but you do nothing to raise a child right.

For heaven’s sake, dreams were a possibility. They always have been. The innocence in a child could continue living even when we’ve become brittle and old. No, a child’s innocence doesn’t mean immaturity. Have you seen artists’ vivid colors splayed on their canvas? That’s a child’s innocence. Have you read a tale that brought you to tears because it was able to move your heart? That’s the innocence. A real, bright smile is the innocence.

I have lost everything.

Don’t let others lose everything too.