Past Me: Hey... I know you hear me. Me: I do. I just don’t always know what to say. Past Me: That house we grew up in? That wasn’t okay. You always act like it was fine — But you were alone most of the time. Ignored, dismissed, just... background noise. Me: Yeah, well, I got used to being the quiet voice. Past Me: You shouldn’t’ve had to. Me: I know. But what choice did I have? I learned to let go Of needing comfort, or love that felt real. Started telling myself not to feel. Past Me: But you were just a kid. You needed care. Me: I needed a parent who’d actually be there. Past Me: Still, look at you. You turned into something they never expected. Most people don’t walk out of that mess respected. Me: I know. I’m doing well. On paper. But inside it’s like I’m still asking for a favor Just to breathe without guilt, or sleep without noise. Past Me: You still hear their voices? Me: Sometimes, yeah. But quieter now. I’ve got meds. Got a therapist. I’m figuring out how To exist without that weight on my chest. Some days I still wake up feeling less. Past Me: But you're still kickin’. Me: Barely — but yeah, I’m still here. I laugh sometimes. I even cry without fear. Past Me: That's something. Me: It is. It's not peace, but it's progress. I’m not fixed — but at least I’m honest. Past Me: You’re doing your best. Me: Some days that doesn’t feel like enough. But I'm surviving, even when it’s tough. Still kickin' around with scars on my skin — Still breathing, still breaking, but I’m still in. Past Me: I’m proud of you. Me: Thanks... I’m learning to be, too.
