I still remember the day my friend sat me down
and told me my life story, this time void of
bullshit. She wouldn't let me make excuses.
There was no, "Yeah, but that didn't matter because--"
No, "They didn't really mean it."
She told me, "I know they fucked you up,
and you hate them for it. They got inside your head
and shook it like a snow globe.
And I know that now you can't trust people
or let people touch you without flinching
or be tickled without having a panic attack.
You were starved and thrown around
and told you were worthless.
You did the best you could.
And you were scared.
I know."
She knows.
I don't know if I can let it go,
but she knows.