At thirteen, I had my first kiss that did not involve being a child. A silky smooth wetness elapsed over my senses and it was quick, loveless and I knew that the relationship was over.
At fourteen, I had some bad news rock my world. My knees trembled as I held them against my chest. My heart pumped blood through my veins but I was always so cold.
At fifteen, I met my kryptonite, a boy who was relentless with me and wanted me so badly and once he had me he knew he could use me for his gain. He never did anything I did not want; however, I was not his priority.
At sixteen, I started to have panic attacks, the bad side of the relationship was coming out and pain would resonate through my body for years.
At seventeen, I told my history, a deep, dark, brooding cloud over me silently lifted itself up and let a little light in. I was finding my peace.
At eighteen, I left home to join the military, a decision that rocked my parents in the same way that my fourteen-year-old self reacted.
At nineteen, people realized that they could walk over me, that they could use me and destroy me. Scars were formed and suddenly people stood to protect me. As much as people wanted to hurt me, there were more who wanted to save me.
At twenty, I made a decision that changed the course of my life. I turned down marriage for an education and I went along with it to learn more about myself. The dark cloud is slowly rising and the scars from my thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen year old selves are fading.
At twenty, I wanted to change me. I wanted to change me for me. I am attempting to change me because despite my lost years, filled with pain and confusion, somehow I was still beautiful and everyone saw it but me.
At twenty, I looked in a mirror and saw myself. Although small, although broken, I’m getting fixed and the light that shines on my face is brighter than ever. I want to be loved, not just by the world but by myself and I’m beginning to realize that I’m slowly learning to do just that.