An Open Letter to the Strangers Who Made My Life More Miserable During the Worst Time of My Life;

Anger is not an emotion I felt often for the earlier years of my life. I would say up until about the age of 33, I never really felt anger at all. Irritation? Sure. Frustration or annoyance? Absolutely. But I'd always had this sort of 'it is what it is' attitude that helped me to get through most things. Now I am 36 years old and it seems anger is nearly all that I feel at any given moment. I know they say you shouldn't blame others for your emotions, whoever they are, but I can say with absolute certainty that I would not carry this level of anger with me had I not been bullied by what felt like the entire world during the darkest days of my life.

In short, after I'd made a safety plan to escape terrifying abuse, I entered the world with an optimism that shocked even myself, considering I'd only managed to rent a motel room for a month and had no real plan beyond "I need to save my life, and then I will help people like me to do the same." Unfortunately during this time, I also came to realize I had a serious autoimmune disorder that flared up during times of high stress, and this certainly was the most high stress time of my life. I could barely function - I was lucky to eat one full meal a day, and my appearance changed drastically because of it. The hair loss was probably the hardest part for me, and in order to "deal with it" (aka not have to think about it as much), I cut it very very short. It wasn't my favourite haircut by any means, but how I looked was not even on my list of priorities, let alone at the top of it. I was scared every second of every day that I would not survive, and because of the scary abusive episode I experienced when trying to make the final escape, I didn't realize I was barely surviving. I was in a PTSD fog, and couldn't think straight enough to even know how to bathe or feed myself properly.

Sometimes it took me hours to gain the courage to go out to the store just to get dog food (I managed to bring my dog with me, and her eating was priority over mine, and often the only time I'd force myself out of the hotel room beyond taking her outside). It was the start of the COVID pandemic lockdowns when this was all happening for me, and sometimes stores would be closed, sometimes there would be a line up, but bottom line it was always unpredictable. On one particular occasion, I was sitting in the parking lot of Walmart, trying to compose myself after sobbing the whole drive there, just barely holding myself together. I looked over at the grown-ass-lady in the passenger seat of the SUV in the parking spot beside me, and I saw her blatanly mock my sad face and slumped posture to the person in the driver's seat. The rage I feel when I think of how sad I felt in that moment is indescribable. Did that woman think I looked like a person who was doing well enough to be mocked? Did she think I couldn't see her? Did she think she was being funny or cute? Does she know that even now, almost 3 years later, I sob at the thought o that poor little girl just trying to make it through, and some idiot with an easy life thinking she's funny almost made me end mine. That truly was almost a breaking point where I gave up. My only motivation to save my own life was because I thought the world would be nicer to me than my sociopathic abusive parents were. Lady, if you happen to read this, I hope you feel that exact shame that you made me feel in that time. No more, no less. Just that deep level of "oh, maybe I don't deserve to live" simply because you decided to push yourself through one of the hardest moments of your life.

And to the old Boomer White Man, the type of human that has always made my life hell, who thought you were being funny in the mall. You saw my sickly little body and short haircut form health issues and thought an audible "that's the problem these days, you can never tell if it's a man or a woman" was not only appropriate but in any way necessary or intelligent. Really sir, that's the problem? A person just minding their own business trying to survive her own personal hell, and NOT the person going out of their way to hurt someone...is...the problem? Do you know my going to the mall that day was something I worked up courage for for TWO weeks? Because at that point, I'd just recovered from a year-long depression after my first attempt to escape abuse didn't work. That was meant to be my "happy thing" amongst weeks of hell. And moments after getting in the doors, I am accosted with the hateful opinion of a person who does not have a clue what it's like to struggle based only on what you look like. I would bet everything I have that I am more creative, more intelligent, stronger even, than that little old white man ever was in his entire boring existence. But because I looked ugly that day, I deserved abuse, and I am what's wrong with the world.

The rage I feel right now is all consuming and I am not even making the points I wanted to. But I am putting this out in the world as-is anyway. Same as I will do with my damn-self, no matter what hateful old boring grown adults think. YOU are the weird person if you are making fun of someone, just know that. Always. No exceptions.