When I was crying and bleeding on my bathroom tile, it was not you who picked me up, dressed my wounds and scrubbed my body until I felt clean again.
When the thunder outside echoed in the emptiness of my heart and my tears fell as steady as the rain, it was not you who got me through the night.
When I scratched at tore at the skin around my middle, it was not you who made me stop and realize I am so much better than that.

It was you who made me feel as though I was dirty, and that my blood would make me clean.
It was you who forced your way into every aspect of my heart, leaving it empty when you left.
It was you who told me, “I would have stayed if you were more like her,”.

However,

It was I who took care of myself.
I picked myself off that bathroom floor.
I got through the night, and every night after that.
I made the decision that my worth is not in my body.

You may have shattered me,

But I put myself back together.