you do not need to be a pretty victim. there is something very toxic in our world where sometimes people “deserve” what happens to them. where you learn - maybe i deserved it. maybe if i hadn’t talked back he wouldn’t have hit me, if i had worn different clothing, if i had just been a nicer person in general these things wouldn’t have happened to me. 

victims are always gentle people who only want to help. how do i explain that we’re not like that. we’re angry and we’re hurting and sometimes that anger is violent. sometimes we’re hard to like. sometimes we are the people you hate, unwilling to make friends and genuinely unlikable. and when that happens, we “deserve” it. what happened to us was a result of our actions.

abusers have made this rule up. they have created it so they can win. so they can teach us that if we weren’t silly and ignorant and worthless and useless we wouldn’t deserve it. that everyone else sees us this way in the end. that we’re pathetic. that we were mean to someone once, that we won’t smile on the bus, that we didn’t keep ourselves virgin-white before marriage, that we made it happen for whatever reason comes up. 

bad people deserve bad things. but what if we’ve only ever been told we’re a bad person too. what if our mental illnesses tell us we’re bad because we’re a burden. what if we’re mean and spiteful and angry. are we good enough victims for you?

i am a poster child for pity when i tell you i was young and desperate to please, that i volunteer, that i just want to take all the hardship i was handed and make it into kindness as often as i can. but i deserve it when i talk about the fact i’m bitter, frequently jealous, occasionally prone to screaming, that i’m ambitious, very good at manipulation, and occasionally cruel as i can be. these are just two sides of me. do you want me to be free of blame because you like me. do you wish you didn’t like me?

good people are easy. we know the world is unfair. but i am not always good, because i am a person that is just trying to survive long enough to learn what it means to be me. 

what happens when i’m ugly?