A long time ago I knew that I wasn’t wanted. No one cared enough to stay. No one considered me when making decisions. No one went out of their way to make sure I was okay. No tried to dry my tears. No one checked on me to see how I was dealing with everything. Everyone only cared about how their lives were changing, how their lives were affected. I was just a child, I was supposed to listen to everything I was told. Whether I was happy or not was irrelevant. I had to feel grateful. That gratitude is what kept me quiet, that sense of guilt that if I left I would be making things worse. That gratitude and guilt which was interpreted as acceptance. After all silence is acceptance right? It didn’t matter how hard the blows were, it didn’t matter if I had bruises which everyone could see, it didn’t matter how harsh the insults were or even how deep the betrayal cut. All that mattered was that I remember how much of pain and sacrifices the grown-ups made for me. How much pain my mother endured. How much money my father spent. That was all that mattered. I took every hand that was dealt. Eventually I was strong, not strong enough to fight back, but strong enough to finally leave. To go out and experience life no matter how hard it would be. To accept that I deserve happiness. I deserve love. And someday someone would be Worthy of Me.