I like to think that everything that happens in life helps define who you are. Even the bad things. But sometimes something so bad happens that it actually defines who you will never be. It "undefines" you. Especially if it occurs at an age when you are building who you will become.
I will never know who I was supposed to be. I live the life of someone else. Someone I met ten years ago. Someone who just happened to take my place one sunny June evening.
I might as well have been dead for the past ten years. Part of me has been. Or maybe the whole of the old me has been. It is as if I had started in one way, got shattered to pieces and then put together wrong with different pieces that just happened to be lying around. The outside has stayed the same but the inside is gone forever.
I am sad to be unable to remember the old me. The original me. The one who didn't care, the one who trusted and the one who didn't fear and was strong.
I remember one thing, I remember thinking that he who broke me deserved to be healed. That I was glad death penalty didn't exist anymore. This is just how full of love and positive I was at the time.
Now, thinking back, I wish I could just kill him slowly with my bare hands or with the hands of a bear.
I never thought the change in me would be what upset me the most. I thought if I got over the original trauma and shock, I'd be fine. And I got over it the hard way.
I never got over the loss of me.
What happens to me nowadays defines the new me.
The stranger me.
The me who got away.
The old me is lost and I will never know who I was supposed to be.
This makes me incredibly sad.
I should rejoice that summer is finally here, but I can't. Not this year.