READ. I AM NOT. READ

{PART TWO}

I am hurt. And for a good portion in time I thought I was hurting. That I was the definition of it. That it was all I caused. I thought I was Hurt. Personalized and personified to its fullest. That I am…was…is and forever would be a catalytic affect for the downfall of my own epitome. The heightened length of a vast depth of deprivation.
I am. …?
What am I?
And at the same time as I question it I know I am something. Because by the doubt of any existence…proves my existence. Maybe I’ve been study Descartes to long? Maybe I haven’t been studying long enough.
This is my letter. To those of you who responded to my rant months ago.
Thank you.
And I hope yall are still striving to discover further things about who you are, and not just what you are…but more importantly I suppose…finding out who you are not.
I am not hurt. Not anymore. I am not a victim. I am not suicide in slow motion. I am not the most truthful. I am not a welcome mat. I am not a soldier though battle field scars have grazed my name. I am not just the result of a faulty childhood. Not just the outcome of an addicts mistake not just what my skin confines me to. I am not who I confine myself to be. I am not loathing. I am not the reason for death…though some have fallen in my name, in my arms, in my eyes, I will not fall. I am not what anyone thinks I am.

-Me.