Wednesday 8 December 2010 photo 1/1
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Growing up, I was weak. I was made to cry almost every other day. People made a sport out of it, and by that I don't mean just the kids at school. Family, family friends, even a few teachers. I was made to feel bad simply for bothering to get out of bed in the morning.
After a while, it turned into anger, and it's only now that I realize that I should've stifled that instead of feeding it, because I burnt myself out. I refused to let it go, and I refused to let it out because letting it out meant they won, and letting it go was condoning it.
Now there's really not much left of me. I feel little things here and there, but for the most part I'm completely inert. Nothing really hits me, because there isn't anything left that feels the way it ought to.
Sad irony of it all is, when you get to where I am, people stop calling you what they used to call you and they call you something infinitely worse:
Strong. They call you strong, and they come to you for support. Little do they know that you're every bit as weak as you ever were, but you don't even have enough left to show it.
True story.
Annons