“-Bully meaning: 1. A person who habitually seeks to harm or intimidate those they perceive as vulnerable.”

“-Abuser meaning: 1. Someone who treats another person in a cruel, violent, or unfair way”

To anyone who has ever had to deal with a bully or abuser

What he says:

“She has your box. GO.”

“She’s just a stupid f*ck*ng girl”

“She ruins everything”

“I hate her”

What they tell me:

“Don’t listen to him”

“Don’t give him your energy”

“He doesn’t deserve your attention”

“That’s a lie”

What I do:

I say “okay”

I change his contact name in my phone to “waste of time”

But that didn’t help

He’s still in my life and still hurting me

What he says:

“DON’T do that”

“Go to your room”

“If you’re going to cry don’t do it in front of me”

“Bye babe”

What I do:

Blink back the tears

Straighten my spine

Put on a smile

And act like everything’s fine

How he contributed to my resentment towards food:

“You’re the beast of the dinner table”

“Look at what your mom’s doing why can’t you mimic that”

“No one’s going to ask you on a date if you eat like that”

“Gosh you inhaled that”

What I do in response:
Stop eating. 

I have to look like and be the Belle at the dinner table

Eat slow

Refuse snacks

How Sundays go:

I go to church with her

Or I go to church with him

Two different religions

Which one do I choose

What he did:

Left me at the pizza place

After I refused to get the food

I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone

I was hating how I looked

What I did in response:

I walked all 1.2 miles home alone in the dark of the winter

In a dress and heels

Coatless

I hummed a song all the way home

What he did in response to what I did:

Waited

Waited

Waited in the garage for me to get home 

So it would look like we got home at the same time

What she says to me:

“You know the rules”

“You’re putting me in a compromising situation I don’t like”

“You’re making him mad”

“Why are you like this sometimes?”

What I know about her:

She was abused at work

She quit her job

She is not okay

She is trying to be okay

What I know about myself:

I hate my reflection for so many reasons

I was born barely 9 months after my parents got married

I get too emotionally attached to things

I’m not fine

How I had a hunch that I was an accident:

I was born in late May 2009

They were “married” in late September 2008

They went to city hall to do the paperwork three days after the engagement

It all just seemed a little hasty

How she explained to me that my hunch was correct:

“I changed my last name, but we weren’t married in the church”

“Then I found out I was pregnant with you”

So technically they had me before they were married.

“If you’re gonna stay stuck on the fact you were an accident, that’s your choice”, she says,

And my dad’s in the background, silent

Watching the entire conversation unfold

How I am like a vase:

I’m empty

People are rushing to fill me with water and flowers

But others send me tumbling over the edge

And I shatter

How I am like a flower:

I’m just trying to grow and glow

And be the best and most beautiful of all

Because I want to matter

But I can’t get any sunlight when others shadow around me

How I am like a bucket:

I’m filled with happiness, funniness, and me-ness, right up to the brim

But I’m trying to fill others up

But I try too hard and lose control

And soon there’s nothing left in my bucket

How I am like a disease sometimes:

There’s something snarky and tangled and nasty inside every person

And mine likes to show sometimes

My sadness and mood drag everyone down

Until they’ve come down with a bad case of me

And I’m a case of bad.

How I am like a plastic water bottle:

I’m plastic and easy to crush- people jump on me and tramp on me

You can crush a plastic water bottle, then say sorry to it

But your apologies don’t fix it, and that water bottle will never be the same

I’m recycled and stretched and renewed until there comes a day when I’m just a piece of garbage

Sticks and stones:

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me

I think this saying should be

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never, ever, ever hurt me

Until the words turn into sticks and stones, until the words turn into actions 

And beat and break me from the inside out

What I know now:

Things are… better… in a sense at home

I know that I’m here

And that I’m just an empty girl

Writing an empty poem

-Via