It was supposed to be different. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I get so caught up and overwhelmed by everything that I forget all I’ve been through. When I stop, I start to remember it all again and it hits me like a truck. I remember my younger self. All the promises she made to herself. Every time she was hurt and took deep breath and refused to cry. She was knocked down and used and abused and abandoned by everyone she held close. Yet, she wanted to grow up and have a life that meant something, stay healthy and make good choices. She wanted to be better. The part of me that had to grow up before she even had a chance to be a kid, but never once blamed anyone. She was not innocent, as she should’ve been. But she only ever wanted good. She still believed in good. 

I mourn her. 

I still feel her. I don’t feel her hope, her light. I feel the despair no one let her feel. The loneliness she was forced to sit in. The rage that never went away no matter how much she screamed and yelled. The claustrophobic weight of the walls closing in. The desperate need to be understood, to be loved. 
I mourn the girl who wanted to live, in the empty shell of her former home. 

I should’ve done her better. I wish I could have done her better.