I wanted to say this to someone. I don't think barely anyone reads this, so maybe here is okay. I don't want to hurt anyone.

I wrote a letter to the guy who told me, when I was maybe seven years old, that it was the right thing to kill myself so I couldn't be sexually abused. The guy who went on to make my life terrifying, a nightmare of trying, so hard, to be worthy to be alive when no one else was on my side and I was evil if I argued, evil if I was scared, evil if I wasn't fast enough, evil always.

Twenty years later, he told me of course now I shouldn't die. Now I had a husband. Now I had a child. Now, I should live. It only applied back then. 

And I...

There is always so much noise when you finally have these conversations. So much pounding, unthinking terror and crushing, pulverizing guilt. But more than that, there is so much of my heart that doesn't want to hurt anyone.

But I want to shout into the void anyway, that I was already worth telling it was okay to live. That no one should ever make a little girl's first introduction to "you're a girl" be "kill yourself."

I already should have been worth enough to someone to be told I could live.