Of Moons, Birds & Monsters

I realized something in my dark, unheated room last night.
Monsters are real.
Everyone has monsters that haunt them, or that live inside them, or evil forces that make them do terrible things.
I have my own monsters. They hurt me every day of my life.
Admitting that all those things that happened to me when I was younger were real is the hardest thing I've ever done. I remember everything, I just pretend I don't. I guess in a way, I'm lying to myself. But you, I can't lie to you. I never could. And I would never do anything to hurt you. I know how it feels to be hurt. I know how it feels to be terrified. I know what insecurity is. And I have done some things to hurt you, but it really isn't me; it's the monsters that are inside us that come out to hurt. Fear, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness.
I grew up afraid and confused. I never believed that anyone could love anyone without hating something about it. I was convinced I was worthless and that I had nothing to look forward to. I was convinced I'd die alone, and unloved. I've been used and lied to, and tricked, and hurt, and let down. Been kicked around and dented and beaten up. All because I live with constant confusion and suffering. There isn't a day that goes by that I think about things that have happened to me. Whispers, laughter, mocking, lies, questions, shaking knees. I never told anyone but you.
They deserve to burn in hell for what they've done. The monsters that haunt us, tangible and intangible. I want nothing more than to take all the ugly away. I want nothing more than to completely drain the toxins that cause our memories to blur and skip days. I want nothing more than to have our real consciences be in control again. I hate the the things that have happened.
But, you know... I don't think I have ever loved you more.