To you.

I’m writing this to say thank you.

Honestly, the space that you left in your wake is put to more significant use now that you’re gone.

The debris and havoc that you administered so extensively truly was a blast to expunge from my skin.

Watching you put your family through the ringer was like a fairy tale.

Knowing that you were abusive to each and every one of us was such a fun thing to realize as an eight year old.
Crawling under a bed every night so that no one would see my grief and pain was the equivalent of going to the spa; so relaxing.

Praying to the God that I barely believe in now for you to just die was peachy.

Contemplating ways to never have to see you again instead of contemplating how to do my math homework was phenomenal.

Hoping that I could finally just be invisible if I could just escape from your grasp was delightful.

I was shy, happy, naive, and content at age seven.

I became silent, brooding, abrasive, and contentious at eight years old.

Because of you.

Thank you for making me like this, making me someone that lashes out at anyone who tries to get close to me.

Really though, thank you for making me fear getting attached to anyone or anything.

Trying to chip away the barriers around my soul that are because of you has been remarkably entertaining.

Knowing that I have to see my most abhorred enemy is simply marvelous.

Thank you for causing me to tremble behind the facade of what I have become.

Thank you for being the reason that I have no idea who I am.

Thank you.