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I’ve been hurt more than a thousand times and probably more than that. I’ve been hurt more times than I’d like to imagine or that I’d like to count. I’ve been hurt throughout my entire life, and the pain never seems to stop.
I’ve been hurt by those who were supposed to care for me, to protect me, and to love me. I’ve been hurt by those I loved dearly and who claimed to have loved me. I was hurt by those who didn’t know me but insisted on causing me pain as they saw me as an easy target. The scars that are left are not physical, but they are emotional.
I was hurt as a child by a father who wasn’t there and didn’t want any part of me in his life. I was hurt physically by the men my mother tried to replace him with, which caused the emotional scars, while I was her scapegoat for too many things. I was hurt when she tried to disrupt my wedding ceremony and refused to go to the reception.
I was hurt by my older brothers, whom I once adored, as one chose alcohol over me and refused the help and support I tried to give him. At the same time, the other, who brushed off this matter, attacked me verbally and refused to be a part of my life for trying to tell him how our brother’s sickness impacted me, and turned him into a raging drunk monster that I did not recognize.
I was hurt when I experienced my first heartbreak from my first love. Her name would cause pain and conjure storms in my mind for years to come until I met the woman I love now, and even that does not come without its pain. It too, hurts. Love hurts.
All of this pain, all the experiences that created it, not only left the scars you can’t see, but they created a trauma that has made me a loose cannon. On too many occasions, this pain has resulted in the failure of relationships and the hopelessness of broken promises and dreams that slipped away.
I walk daily with this pain. I see these memories playing through my mind. I deal with this pain as I try not to count all the times I have been hurt.