I saw you sitting all alone
so very alone, in the closet.
You were trying to will yourself to die
at the tender age of ten.
They didn't love you,
you know, the ones who were supposed to love you.
The one who gave birth to you and the one who gave birth to her...
They'd whisper to you and even tell you harshly:
"You're a good for nothing."
"You'll never amount to anything."
"You always do things the hard way."
"Stop rocking the boat!"
"Shut up!" "Don't feel!" "Don't smile or cry or show any emotion."
"You should've never been born."
I know how you feel.
I was with you every step of the way.
I still am.
I will always be with you because,
I am you, and you are me.
I come from the future to tell you that you turned out just fine.
You were good for something - and so many good somethings!
You should've been born because here you are,
and there are no mistakes like that.
Everyone who should be born IS born.
You'll amount to something great:
Being a good mother.
That's the hardest job in the world, and you'll do just fine at it.
You'll do much, much better than they ever did.
You did things the hard way, and sometimes that's the best way because
you didn't take the easy way out.
You didn't vomit up your hurt upon your child.
But you did it the hard way by simply wanting to heal.
Your grandma and mother didn't want to heal,
so they lived an easy - unexamined - life.
They didn't want to go into all their pain
and pull out the messy wounds.
They didn't want to heal.
They chose not to heal.
But you wanted to heal, and you knew that meant hard work.
It's what she would call "doing things the hard way."
And you'll heal, and you'll continue to do so.
Because life is a journey of healing
And helping others to heal by example.
You'll find your gift, created by the events that have led you here
in the closet,
trying to will yourself to die.
There will be more events, but that's okay.
Remember, remember, dear child,
you have strength now, and you'll continue to gain strength.
You'll find the beginnings of recognizing your gift
from a dear elementary school janitor you'll meet
in a couple years.
When you're going through so much horribleness at home,
you'll still be able to smile.
And he will recognize that and call you "Sunshine."
He will give his rays of sunshine to you.
To know your gift and to give it away is one of the greatest things.
Just like not passing along the generational abuse that is in your family.
I know you're hurting right now,
and you'll come to many more such points in your life in the future.
But you'll get through them.
I'm living proof of that.
I just wanted to tell you, dear Sunshine,
You are loved.
You are good for something.
You are meant to be here.
Right here, right now.