A Letter

I'm not even sure it's a good idea to post this, but it's something that's been bugging me for years...literally, years. It's horribly emo, but my next few posts will probably be pointlessly emotional.

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To Whom it May Concern,

I hate you.

 I do not think I can state clearly enough, or strongly enough how much I loathe the fact that you still exist in this world. Sometimes, in my more frightened states, I'm afraid I can see you around the corner, your grin smug as your very presence taunts me. 

And other times, in my darker moments, I relive the moment where you killed me. I feel that wave of near physical sickness come over me, and have to stop myself from lashing out at other men. Other men who have never given me reason to fear them, or hate them.

I have worked so hard to keep myself from turning into someone I'm not. To keep myself from running scared from people, from new experiences...from life. 

I remember what it was like when I was younger, dressing in ugly clothes, keeping my hair in front of my face, hiding myself from the world. I would panic when someone would stare at me for too long. As I got older, dressing nicer, feeling a little more secure, until some stupid male would call out to me, making some comment that would inevitably drive me deeper into my shell. 

Even now, this is hard for me to write, even knowing that you will never see it. Or will likely never see it. I don't really care in either case, I suppose. What more could you ever do to me now? What is worse than what happened when I was a child? 

I might have been able to forgive you if you had, at the very least admitted what you did! Instead, you told them, 'I understand that being a teenager is a very difficult time for young girls.' You made it sound like I was crazy! Then, the way everyone acted afterwards...I thought I was crazy. I will never forgive you for that. Why couldn't you just apologize? Why couldn't you just admit what you did? Having to see you during family functions made me sick. The fact that you always came around to ask you father and my mother for money made me feel violent. I couldn't figure out why they just wouldn't send you on your way. 

I'm glad that I will likely never see you or your family again, and that gives me a small measure of peace. I will not deny that. But I find it unfair that you still live, while other men, better men than you, have died young. Or have died at all. 

I do not know if those scars you inflicted on me will ever fully heal, I have hope that they will. 

Sincerely,

Me