I don’t know what you want from me.

by shelbyisrad

[Trigger warning: abuse]

I looked into his eye’s. I don’t remember the question asked of me, but I said “Yes.”

He slapped me, and asked again.


Another slap.

Through tears, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I don’t know what you want from me.

I was maybe 5 years old? I can’t even tell you for sure.

I search and can’t even remember the question my mom’s boyfriend was asking.

But that moment, those words, have lingered in my heart for a long time.


My mom who left over and over but says to me “I need to hear you say you love me”

I don’t know what you want from me.

The boys who told me I was pretty, but never spoke to me again when they found out I wouldn’t have sex with them.

I don’t know what you want from me.

The churches that claim love and acceptance, but would pick me {or people I love} apart in seconds and tell me just how awful I am. {or they were}

I don’t know what you want from me.

The people who told me to chase my dreams, but only if they fit a certain mold and would bring in enough money for a white picket fence and 2.5 kids.

I don’t know what you want from me.

The hearts I broke, the people I let down, the projects I’ve screwed up, the mistakes I’ve made…

I don’t know what you want from me.

I’m broken and imperfect and a big freaking mess. I’m emotional and want to please every one I care about. I feel hurts — the hurts i’ve suffered and the hurts i’ve caused — to my very core. I cry, a lot, sometimes for reasons I don’t even know. I’m almost more afraid of success than I am of failure. I worry constantly. I miss people so much, even when it’s people that have hurt me. I feel it all, deeply — my skin {and heart} feels rubbed raw. It stings as salty tears make tracks down my cheeks. I’m too much and not enough all at the same time depending on who you ask.

I think I’m done wondering what everyone wants from me.

Though I’ll probably be playing those words in my head for a long time,

because it’s hard to shake the past and the bruises that linger beneath the skin.

But I am learning to love this mess of person that I am and that’s the best I can do.

Its what I want from me.