You told me..


You told me many lies over the years. Most of them about myself. You convinced me to believe things about myself that were not true. At least, I think they were untrue.

You told me I was worthless.

You told me I was not capable of being loved.

You told me that I was a bad daughter.

You told me that I was to blame. 

You told me that I was not enough.

These sentiments were echoed in your actions.

Your actions told me I was worthless.

Your actions told me I was not capable of being loved. 

Your actions told me I was a bad daughter.

Your actions told me that I was to blame.

Your actions told me that I was not enough.

And they were echoed again as I repeated them to myself.


….not capable of being loved. 

….bad daughter. 

….to blame.

….not enough. 

And again. And again. And again. Until I believed them too.

I am worthless. 

I am not capable of being loved. 

I am a bad daughter. 

I am to blame.

I am not enough. 

I would be lying if I said you had not affected how I thought of and still think of myself. I continue to wonder.

Am I worthless?

Am I not capable of being loved?

Am I a bad daughter?

Am I to blame?

Am I not enough?




Contentment: a state of happiness and satisfaction

I want to be content.

There are days when I feel content. Those days usually come down to a feeling of comfort when I am surrounded by people who love me. In those moments, I find that laughter comes easily and anxiety is pushed aside, even if only momentarily.

I so cherish sweet moments with those I love, and I find myself in those moments wishing I could remain in them forever. Never having to leave the safety of how I feel right then to face the world, or myself. I am happiest then, and I am most satisfied with who I am when I am with them.

In those moments, I am led to believe that everything will be okay. I feel that, if I could only channel who I am then, that I could conquer my anxiety. Oh, how I wish I could conquer it.

Alas, I am not able to. Instead, I will hold onto those moments of contentment and never let them go. Letting them define my life rather than the moments in between.

I’m tired is all.


You ask if I’m okay.

I tell you that I am fine.

You tell me that I am not the same–that I am not even sporting my fake smile today.

And, I know it’s true.

I tell you that I am not feeling that well.

You ask if it’s mental or physical.

I tell you it’s both.

You ask if something has happened.

I tell you no. 

I wish that there were an excuse, I think to myself.

I’m just tired is all.

Extreme exhaustion can feel like depression you say.

Involuntary tears fill my eyes as you turn away. 

What I really wanted to say was yes. Not only has something happened, but everything has happened. And because of it nothing has been the same. Nothing will be the same. I am not the same.

However, I said no. And, no is the right answer. But, I’m still dealing with everything that has happened. You asked me before if it was still too painful. I told you no, but I lied. It is still too painful.

That night wasn’t the end as I said it was. It’s not that simple. Oh, how I wish it were. Because, in reality, it was only the beginning. The beginning of years of hurt. Years of trying to make sense of what was left behind. Years of sifting through the words that were said and the things that were seen. Years of figuring out who I am. Years of reliving moments, moments that time has not seemed to fade.

I so wish that I could let those moments fade away, but I cannot. They are always readily available. And, I get lost. Lost in thought. Lost in what could have been, and lost in what was and is. Knowing that it has made me who I am, but struggling still. Sometimes wishing it had not been and others grateful that it did.

So, I’m fine really.

No, nothing has happened. 

I’m tired is all. 



Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. 

Thank you for prying.

I sorely needed someone to understand. Even just to understand a small part of what is happening. I needed someone to know. Someone to listen.

I am grateful for your perception. Thank you for taking time with me when you knew I needed it. Thank you for not writing me off. Thank you for recognizing how worried I was and talking me through what it really meant.

Thank you for asking the hard questions. Thank you for your confidentiality. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk.

Thank you for helping me explain what is going on. Thank you for understanding that it is hard for me to talk but that I do want you to know. Thank you for being patient and listening as I worked through how much I wanted to disclose. Thank for being gentle in your responses.

I feel relief. Yes, relief. I do not feel crazy for how I feel anymore. I feel like what I am feeling is real. For the first time, my experience was validated.

I want you to know that I trust you. I trust you completely, and that scares the hell out of me.

I knew


I am afraid of what you will see when you look at me. Do you see me for who I am or who I pretend to be?

For, it’s easy to fool the world, but you see right through. From the beginning, I knew. 

I knew you were different. I knew you knew more about me than I know about myself. I knew I trusted you inexplicably. I knew I was afraid of what you understood about me. I knew that I would have to work hard to conceal my true self from you. 

Who am I to you? How much do you know? Am I succeeding in my deceit?

Yet, part of me wants you to know. Part of me wants to be understood. I want to be able to speak and be free. I speak in calculated terms, careful not to reveal too much to you. I ruminate over the words I do reveal to you, wondering what knowledge you might have gained from them. 

I have not yet decided who I want you know me as. Until then, please continue to understand me.