Finding your voice can be difficult. Taking the retribution for your voice can be damaging. Acknowledging your worth takes practice. Fighting for self preservation can be exhausting.
I try to never make myself look like a victim. I don't share my stories for pity or protection. I share them to break the silence. I speak in case someone needs the courage. I speak because silence is a casket. It's a fucking death trap where you drown in your misery and solitude. Or at least that's how my silence feels.
Maybe yours feels like puppies and kittens. Good for you. Stay silent.
Everything in me knows my past is a burden to myself and often other people. No one wants to know the magnitude of evils the world is capable of. And I've worked long and hard to fight and hide from those evils. I won't be made to feel guilty for owning my past and knowing that repeating it would be a folly of my own creation.
Someone told me tonight, "you think you're SO unique and SO wounded... you're so wrapped up in what you think is your tough story, as well as your sick dependence on your friends..." The person continued on about my alleged short comings and the reasons why I'm not a fit and honest person.
I must admit, it's never easy when someone's true feelings about you surface in such a volatile way. But I harbor no ill feelings toward his definition of my character. I do not understand him anymore than he understands me. But as I stare at this impasse I am thankful for my unique and wounded soul, as well as my sick dependence on my friends. For through it all, they have held me up.
UPDATE: The original post had to be edited/deleted but I saved these comments from a couple dear friends: