Sorry, my little girl

I apologize, my dear girl, yesterday when I saw that photo of my younger myself, just a few months old, I didn't recognize myself. I couldn't connect with whom I was or with that innocent little girl. I felt like a stranger because I couldn't comprehend when so many things happened that separated me from that innocent child who has nothing to do with this cruel world she had to live in. I can't understand everything that little girl had to go through to survive in this world she didn't ask to come into. I'm left with questions and an overwhelming urge to cry. In fact, tears are streaming down my face as I write this because right now, I realize that no one can or will ever answer them. Not my former myself, not my present myself, nor my future myself if such a thing exists.

Seeing that photo made me realize that I have no memories of that girl. I don't know how she lived, and I find myself asking once again, "What have they done to her?" I see what they have turned her into, and I don't like it. I desperately want to change this reality, to forgive the past, make amends, and find peace. The pain is destroying her, or perhaps she was always broken, and all she has tried to do over the years is rebuild herself, to be whole, to try to piece herself together, but she hasn't succeeded. Once again, the question repeats itself, "Why can't I identify with her? Why do I feel like we are not the same person?" Even though we are bound by pain and equally shattered. I could do many things differently, surely, but I feel like the outcome would be the same, and I would end up in the same place where I am today. I would still be searching for answers and trying to make sense for everything I've experienced since I was little.

I would still be unable to understand why behind so much evil and destruction that has always surrounded me. Then the next question that comes to my mind is, "Am I only a victim in this story?" Because truth be told, I keep repeating the same things that put me in this place today. I still can't stay grounded, be authentic, inventing lives I don't have and living experiences that don't belong to me. That's when I wonder, where does this come from? Of course, my life was never truly mine, with parents who weren't parents, an absent family, a name that was changed, an identity that isn't mine, and the list goes on because this is only the beginning.

I grew up in a fabricated family where everything was about fighting and competing. I was the middle child burdened with the responsibility of being the perfect role model in accordance with to my mother's expectations. I had to be the best, someone everyone should follow. And yes, it condemned me as a child, but even more so as an adult because striving for perfection and having everything under control has turned my days into a perfect hell.Now, let's go back to that photo. Why does it hurt so much to look at it, and why can't I heal my relationship with that little girl? Whom do I blame? Do I have to live this life because of her? Is she responsible for my suffering? Which life Am living I?

Yes, there are too many questions without answers. I seek help, but where? I've already tried, and nothing seems to improve.

Today is just another one of those days where I see no way out, a replica of yesterday."