Open letter to those who oppose my disclosure of abuse

Dear You Know Who You Are,

I hear you. You may not think I hear you, but I hear you. You may think that your words are harmless. You may think they are private. You may even think they are justified. You may even think I will never hear them. But I hear you. Eventually. Always.

I hear you saying those things about me. I hear you saying that I am wrong for sharing my feelings. I hear you saying I must be crazy. I hear you saying how wrong I am for letting it all out there for anyone to read. I hear you say I am embarrassing myself and maybe even embarrassing you somehow. I hear you. Loud and clear.

I hear you saying I must be telling lies. I must be making things up. There must be something wrong with me. I must be stopped. Lock her away. Silence her. Make sure she keeps her voice silent. Bring her back here and put her under lock and key. There must be something that can be done. These dirty secrets must be kept. I hear you.

I hear you saying I am a problem. I hear you saying I am THE problem. Because I speak. Because I open up. Because I share the realities of what goes on inside my head, my life, my world. Because I don't hide behind the fake wall of appearances. Because I stood up. Because I fought back. Because I am living. Because I chose my own environment. Because I refuse to settle for misery. That is a problem.

I hear you saying that everything I am doing is wrong. I hear you calling me a bad person, a bad mother, a bad woman, a bad everything. I hear you. Did you know I hear you? Did you know it travels from your conversations behind me to my ears? Did you know?

I hear the question, "Why cant she be normal?" "Why doesn't she just do this or that or this?" "Why can't she just do what I think she should?" "What is wrong with her?" I hear you. Over and over again.

So here is your answer:

You see me. You see my feelings. You see my reactions to the world around me. You see the strong emotions, good and bad. You see me because I chose to share. But you don't see everything. You don't see everything I am reacting to. Because I am the sharer. I am telling MY truth while the others around me are not. I am in the tornado with the camera set to record but all you can see is my face, not the turbulence around me. You don't see the unpredictable around me tossing me here then there. You dont see the sheer force of the wind in my face. Or, you refuse to believe it, which is more likely. Because it isn't that hard to see. Unless you truly don't know me at all. And in that case, why can I hear you? Why are you even speaking my name from your lips?

But what I can't understand, no matter how hard I try, is the words that put me down for accomplishing my goals. The words that turn me into a negative for wanting my own happiness. The words that insult my drive to do better things inside of this tornado. My desire to get out of the turbulence and find shelter. To be safe and strong and rebuild.

I am choosing me. I am choosing me because I haven't been left with a lot of other choices. I am choosing me because no one else is. I have been left alone to make the choice. No matter what version of the story you want to tell, I have been left with only two options: choose me or lose me. The real me. The authentic me. Acceptance wasn't a variable in the equation anymore. And if you don't have the information that helps you understand why it wasn't, perhaps you shouldn't make these judgments. Because I hear them. Are you sure you can make them? Are you sure you have all the information?

I hear you. And it hurts. And I am so tired. But I get up and go forward. I keep moving. I use it to gain strength.  I chose to get up off the ground and fight my way through this tornado. So, I guess I should thank you for your petty words or your stinging bullets or your ammassing hatred. I should thank some of you, even, for taking actual action against me. I should thank you for all these things you don't think I hear. Because it helps, in its own fucked up way, I guess. When the tears are mopped up, I am stronger. All the fighting for myself against the strong winds makes me stronger. And I know that makes you even more bitter. That I keep refusing to stay on the floor when you try to knock me down. That I won't cower to you just because you're a bully.

That is because I don't respect you. You havent given me a reason to. I respect myself. I've earned that from me.

But, just one burning question keeps coming back to me: Why do you care? What have I ever REALLY done to you? Do you even know?

So talk away. I hear you. I listen. And then I move forward. I get up. I get better. Always.