I’ve been abused. Almost my whole life. But I don’t hate them. I can’t. I still hug the woman who picked me up by my ears, slammed my head into the wall and tossed me down the stairs when I didn’t wake up in time for kindergarten. The woman who constantly tells me I’m not good enough. The woman who makes me flinch every time time someone is a little angry. I still joke with the man who screamed at me for little things. The man who beat me with a hanger for making a pillow fort. The man who makes me feel guilty whenever something bad happens to him. They make it impossible to love myself and claim I don’t love them. The parents who did all this, took me to Disney World when I was six, brings me to Kings island or the zoo once a year, keeps me fed, gives me amazing birthday and Christmas presents. I want to escape, but I want to stay. They love me... they just have issues. I’m not safe, but I’m not safer on my own