I still don't understand why I deserved to be hurt like this. I don't get the reason why all this pain turned into traumas and issues I have no idea how to resolve. I don't think I will ever have a chance to fully grasp what all these sufferings mean, because, at the end of the day, I always forgive.
And I continuously forgive them even without their apologies. I still love them even though there are fears of the history they carved on my skin. I still care even if my trust was milk-powdered.
I hate that I was called resilient for responding greatly to my trauma. I hate that I am being bamboozled by all the what-ifs, the how-it-happened, the go-with-the-flow. I hate that I am undeserving of this hatred, but it never left me since the day it entered.
I am mad because all my life, I have been wondering what I do to deserve all this pain — and all my questions are still unanswered.
