Dear me.

I know you.

I am you.

I know your pain.

I know how you hold your tears back because you don't want her to know how much her abuse actually hurts.

I know how you've put up so many walls, how that empty, numb feeling has taken a firm hold on your very soul.

I know that you are scared. You want to leave. Escape. Die.

I know you've tried more times than you'll be proud of in the future. You dread coming home. You dread seeing her.

Never knowing her mood, always guessing and wondering, will today be a good day? Eventually, her blows will stop. Eventually, the bruises will fade, and the physical hurt will heal.

One day you will feel safe. And beautiful. And wanted. And loved. You will be told you are worth the air you breathe and the life you live. You will find a god that comforts you, and you will start to heal.

I know you are scared. You live in this perpetual state of fear and hatred and stress and confusion as to why and what you did to deserve the hate you've been given from birth.

It isn't your fault. Know that. You should've been protected. From him. From her. From all of them. All the hurt. But you weren't, we, weren't.

I'm sorry, little one.

You aren't going to hear that for a long, long time, but I'm sorry we had to survive for this long, barely hanging on to sanity and life. I'm sorry we don't get to truly live until so much further down the road. I promise it will end, not anytime soon, but it will come to an end. You will see the light, and you will take that golden chance at freedom and love and support.

The fear hasn't gone away yet, but we will work on it. Together, and we will heal from all the pain we've had drilled into our heads and all the hate we know.

Trust me.

-R