All morning long I have been pondering what I should write. Without any inspiration to pull from, I decided to look through two really old notebooks, covered in dust, and paper discolored. The words written in pencil by a troubled, love-sick teen had long since faded in the years of 1989-1990. If I were to write another "dear teen me letter", I would ask myself, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"
I didn't read all of the lovestruck poetry because there was too much drivel to be read. Although it wasn't all about love; there was a lot of hate poetry and song lyrics mixed in, most likely after a bad break-up. I wasn't too bad of a writer back then, I actually managed to write a decent poem that wasn't about whomever I fancied at the time. I suppose I was that typical female teen who was so in love with every boy that I was "dating" that I did stupid shit for them; for example, running away from home, or trying to commit suicide over them. I feel sorry for my poor parents and the dumbass shit I put them through; yet if they were reading this now, I'm sure they would laugh at me and tell me, "I told you so."
I was bullied a lot as a child. I was called every name you could imagine, pushed around, and beat up on a regular basis from the time I was ten years old all the way up until I was a sophomore in high school. I was embarrassed, humiliated by my so-called friends, sexually harassed, and assaulted by boys my age or older; one of the most memorable events was when I was invited to a sleep-over just so the five other girls could jump me and beat me up. I absolutely hated my life growing up, it was the most miserable experience I've ever had. I suppose that's why I jumped right into having sex with boys at way too early of an age, simply to have some sort of attention, or feelings of being loved, without being abused. Unfortunately, the abuse followed soon after by the time I was a freshman in high school. I must have had a sign on my back that said, "door mat for boys."
That is why I wrote so much poetry that it could kill a group of listeners at any poetry night in a depressing bar somewhere now. I'm so glad that my past self picked up her dignity off the floor, wiped off the smut, and continued down the path of a lonely stripper bound and determined to try and keep her teenaged sex trophies fed, with a roof over their head, and clothes on their backs. Speed up the years, and later life moves on, and you find yourself left with a not so different life and, more kids later that are the saving grace of your existence. If it weren't for my children, I wouldn't have the proper inspiration that I truly needed in my life. With that being said I can tell my past self that "you will survive, these will be the most difficult things you will ever have to endure, but you will survive."
Sometimes I wonder if that troubled, love-sick teen ever grew up. Sometimes I wonder if she's still trapped inside, alone, scared, and wanting to escape all the pain from the people who walked all over her. Sometimes, I wonder if she'll ever truly heal.
No matter how hard the past seems to pull us under, and drown us with the pain we experienced as a child, we have to allow ourselves to let it go. The past is just that, and we can't move on to the future if we keep holding on to the things that hold us back. Learn to let yourself heal, and always dream big.