A Letter to the Person Who’s Hurt Me Most

Dear Me,

You can be a real stubborn, cold-hearted idiot sometimes. Telling me I don’t matter. Constantly telling me the natural parts of me were offensive to people, so they had to be stifled and deleted or at least heavily modified. I mean…what were you thinking trying so hard for so long to edit me down to a ‘suitable for all audiences’ version? You’ve made me uncomfortable to miserable for so much wasted time when really, you knew very well when I was happy and who was present and what I was doing when happiness hung around. You should have been editing the shit out of my life instead of editing parts of me out for the sake of people who didn’t appreciate the work it took to cut me down, and didn’t even like the edited version at completion anyway. Those people will never be satisfied, no matter which parts or how much I cut away.
All that time you spent trying to fit me into molds other people made for me could have (and should have) been spent making my own mold. All those times you forced me to stretch to reach out for people I didn’t want to touch anyway…you could’ve been finding the people whose hands fit with mine; the ones whose hands felt safe and kind without you having to give them instructions on how to hold me first. 

But I guess at least you’re living that way now; editing my life instead of editing me to suit people who don’t give a shit about my desire to love and accommodate them. You’ve (mostly) stopped hurting me. Things are getting a lot better in the last couple of years. You’re seeing things more clearly. You’re seeing other people more clearly. You’re seeing me more clearly. So I forgive you.

mirror

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