To All the People Who Have Created The Bad in Me

I wish there was something I could do after all this time. I wish there was a way I could make you understand the impact you have had on me… From the days living in that grimy dangerous trailer park, to the double wide in the middle of nowhere, to the house that should have been nice in that small town had we had the money, to the years spent in that other bigger, but nonetheless small town… I wish you knew.

See, it wasn’t my fault we lived in a neighborhood full of drugs. There were four of us kids, and the only income was from a drug addict father who never worked for long. I didn’t ask to have lice all the time… I was 6. But that didn’t stop you. I didn’t ask for the out of style clothes from the free store. I didn’t ask for the cops to be over all the time, or for my parents to cheat on each other all the time. I didn’t ask for the abuse, violence, drugs, poverty, all around trashiness. I was a child. I had no control over it.

When I was old enough to get away from it, still being in that area, everyone THOUGHT they knew me because they were related to me. And that’s all anyone saw me as- the sins of my family members, who continued the cycle once they reached adulthood. The sins of the father, who never changed his ways. See, but I realized I couldn’t be the same… I knew in my teenage years that I wasn’t the greatest person to be around… But I wasn’t mean TO anyone, I was just mad at the world. I withdrew from everyone. Outcast from prom, homecoming, parties, socializing in general… And eventually in my early 20’s I figured out I needed to fix it.

And I left.

Far away. I wish I could say that I left it all behind too and for the most part I did… But even though it’s not surface layer anymore, it’s still there. All that doubt, feeling I’m never good enough, the insecurity. I’m nothing like I was then on the exterior, but I still feel it circulating through my veins.

I know that one day I’ll die and it won’t be long and I’ll just be completely forgotten. Hell, sometimes I wish it would just hurry up because I’m so tired of this black cloud hanging over me for no reason out of the blue. But don’t worry, I know I can’t speed it up any… I have to keep pushing through. It sure would be a lot easier if I saw some remorse though, something to show you understand the damage you did to me, instead of masquerading all the time as these perfect people when the version of you I know is far from that.

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