Gratefulness is a strong word. I am not grateful for what has happened to me. I am glad for my resilience, but I reject the notion that the pressure made me, me. I didn’t need the harm. I didn’t need to be victimized. I didn’t need to be raised a caretaker. To watch my own mother suspect me, and raise a hand against me as her mind convinced her I was out to get her. That everyone was. I have lived little. I have had much happen to me. Been assured by many, whom I will never speak to again, that these moments have built character. No person needs to be harmed. Trials are one thing; actions to which you are helpless to are another, as they strip you of self, purpose, and will, and your options are to reconstruct a self out of what is left, or stay there. I don’t blame anyone. I don’t blame my mother nor my father. I blame this time, this culture, and how it cultivates. I ire what it creates. I cannot stop it’s churning, but if given the opportunity, I won’t leave it all empty-handed. I will cultivate a way out. A true peace. Even if it takes me whole, I have built myself from nothing, time and time again.
And I will build myself again, if it means freedom.