Original Facebook Post – November 04, 2013
Though rarely ever expressed, I am thankful for my childhood tormentors. While I’m sure there is a plethora of psychological disorders I disregard, that can be attributed to their abuse, I have no doubt that my tolerance and resolve can be traced to the same origin. There was a time in my youth when I let their voices become so loud, that I mistook them for the echo of validity. They made me begin to lose faith in the truth of my existence, and I almost believed I was the grotesque nothing they had scripted me to be. I cannot say that I have ever seriously attempted to take my life, but I have stood at the threshold on more than one occasion. And when I was faced with the ideas of finality and eternity, it was thoughts of all I loved and adored that consumed me. The taunting voices who had insisted that the world had no use for someone with my fat, ugly, and impoverished disposition, were nowhere to be found. Even if I still bought into some of their propaganda at the time, subconsciously I began to relinquish their control of me. When compared to those I loved, and who I knew loved me, I couldn’t find a connection to the hurtful and hateful things being said by those on the perimeter. Once the weight of their “opinions” was diminished, my entire outlook began to change, eventually evolving into the person I am today. Their hate did not beat me into submission…It helped me understand that the world is made of conflicting perspectives, and it’s how we react to them that makes the difference. The pain they caused did not make me strong…It merely tested my strength. And though they did manage to cast my spirit down, the love I felt was there to cushion the fall, and ultimately help it soar. ♥
