To the boy on the bus who slide his hand up my thigh as if it was his own. To the guy forcing his hand down my pants in the practice room. To the guy who whistled, hooted, and clapped from across the street. And to the guy through the phone that manipulated me. You all hurt me. Brought me to tears. Crying not about you, but about me. You convinced me that everything you did to me was my fault because I was a sad little girl who couldn’t fight back. Told me that the only way to be pretty, was to be skinny. And the only way to get rid of food was by sticking my head in a toilet bowl. You had no fucking idea how much you hurt me. Whether it was physical or emotional, you still damaged me. What you did wakes me like an alarm clock before sunrise and wakes me up in the middle of the night dripping of sweat and tears. But the thing is, you didn’t break me. Because I’m still here. I’m still standing on my own two feet without your help. And I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for myself, I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry that no one ever taught you right from wrong. That you’re so fucked up that you have to tear others down piece by piece until there is nothing left but a crying girl shaking in the corner wanting to die. I have forgiven myself but I will never forgive you, and that’s okay. Because I still get out of bed in the morning. Whether it’s thinking about you, or the day that I have planned, I still get out of bed. I will always be twice the person you are and nothing less. You will always be below me and never above. You might see this, or you might not, but if you do, know that I am a survivor.