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I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it. Yet it happened. Explain that.
The abuse- horrific, too much, too many, too sad.
The loss- unbearable, too soon, too steadfast.
However, I will say this; yes, my father should not have done what he did, nor his friends, nor the foster carers, nor the boy from that party last year, not the boy from Manchester. None of those 'people' should have done what they did- but it happened, I cannot change it- I'm left to pick up the pieces of myself scattered around this country and buried beneath the ground. If all of this had to happen though, if the universe dictated that good and evil must be balanced, then I am glad that these things happened to me- not because I deserve them, or because I believe I am an abomination. But because I can see past this hurt. I can work through this hurt.
I will not let this hurt, this screwed up, messed up, pathetic excuse of a childhood dictate who and what I am/will be in the future. I accept these things happened. I, sadly, am neither the first or the last. This storm, this hurricaine I've lived in for 18 years will pass.
The damage: extensive. Not permanent.
I am me. I am not the hurt.
I will, just like my Mumma told me to, 'Dance to the moon and back' before I succumb.
Dance with me. Give this storm, your storm, the finger.