A letter to someone who hurt me.


Note: This blog post is about the subject of abuse. If things like this are triggering for you, feel free to skip reading; I completely understand. 

This week, I was on a call with my friends about things I will not say publicly, but this was the first time I ever went into detail with anyone about how much you hurt me.

I thought we were friends, which is why I never stood up to you and told you to stop. I wanted you to stop, but I couldn't find the strength to do so. I was too afraid to stand up to you. But this was the only way I had your attention. So I pretended to be okay with it, but in reality, I cried when I got home every day it happened because I felt violated. 

Friends? That was something we never were. I considered you a friend, but you didn't see me as that. You saw me as a person who you could take advantage of. You caught on to the fact that I was soft-spoken and wanted to be accepted by everyone, someone who desperately wanted to fit in.

Most importantly, you learned that it was hard for me to stand up for myself. You never complimented me. You only talked a little to me about much of anything I was interested in. You were so mean to me, and I never understood why. I beat myself up over what I had done for why you didn't think I was good enough for you. 

What hurt the most is that you never acknowledged me again after it all. It was the confirmation that showed me I was always nothing to you.

You may have been sorry, but you never speaking to me and turning your head the other way when you saw me walk down the hall confirmed how you felt about me. I honestly was nothing to you. I was always nothing to you. But I didn't figure it out until I noticed how awkwardly you looked at me when I walked past you. I wanted to avoid you at all costs but couldn't because I had a class with you. I tried my best not to look your way at all. I avoided attending football and basketball games because I feared seeing you there. If someone asked me if I was going, I'd say I wasn't interested or already had plans. The truth is, I was afraid of seeing you. What you did was painful, but treating me like a complete stranger was equally aching. Seeing you become so much more taller than me made me fear you even more. You had power over me that you didn't deserve. 

After that, I told myself that I was going to take this to the grave and never speak about it, and I almost did. I didn't talk about it to anyone, not until years later. I mentioned it to a group of friends just to let them know. One day, I spoke about it in my car when my friend and I were leaving Waffle House, crying while I was driving. I talked about it briefly in therapy but was too nervous to speak much about it. I opened up to my friends only a few days ago about what happened in detail. I cried for several hours afterward. 

You were a significant contribution to why I hated who I was. You were a contribution to why I let people humble me for so long. 

What you did to me changed me forever, and I still have nightmares about it. One day, when I was out shopping, I saw someone who looked like you in the store and was so close to running out until I realized it was. I know absolutely nothing about what you’re currently up to, and I don’t care even to try and find out. 

While you left me with all this trauma, there is something: I refuse to feel the way you made me feel about myself ever again.