She’s a strong girl. She’s got this under control.
No, no I don’t.
Please stop calling me strong. Please stop saying I’m resilient.
You know what resiliency got me? Nearly 30 years of abuse. Why? Because even though I lived in hell, I managed to appear quite normal on the outside. I got excellent grades. I stayed out of trouble. What did that get me? It got me a longer sentence in hell.
Maybe I could have been saved a lot sooner had I done so poorly, had I acted out in school. Those are the types of kids that get the attention. No one worries about the bright girl excelling in her classes. They just assume she’s got it all together; they assume her parents are teaching her well. The only thing my parents taught me was how to hurt.
No one noticed that I never wanted to go home. No one questioned why I would wander the halls after school was over, looking for something, anything to do so I wouldn’t have to go home. No one questioned why I was constantly wetting my pants, why I was always so on edge. No one questioned anything. They only saw my academic skill set and put blinders on for all the rest.
She’s going to be something some day.
Yea. I’m going to be dead. I wanted to be dead. Why didn’t anyone hear me? I couldn’t speak, but I tried so hard to tell them. And no one heard me. All they saw was a bright girl with a bright future. All I saw was a life of intolerable pain that I wanted to end ever since I was a child.
Resilient children don’t want to die. Resilient children don’t try to kill themselves. I was a hopeless child, going through the motions and waiting for the day she would kill me or I would kill myself. That’s not resilience. That’s not strength.
I was a broken child, who grew into a broken teenager, and then into a shattered adult. I have not survived my childhood. I’m still reliving it.