I Still Remember
I still remember.
Everything.
The faces,
The eyes that looked through me—
Some cold,
Some cruel,
Some pretending not to see.
I remember the stares that burned,
The words that stung,
The screams that filled rooms I wished I could escape.
I remember the silence after—
Worse, somehow, than the noise.
I remember the hits.
The ones you see coming,
And feel like death.
The way the pain cuts through you—
Not just to your skin,
But to your soul.
The weight of it—
Like you’re being crushed under something too heavy to survive.
I remember shrinking,
Becoming smaller,
Unseen,
I felt it.
Learning to predict anger like weather,
And learning how to survive it.
The floor shook.
The air felt heavy.
But I still remember my faith.
Strong.
Unshaken.
Present in every breath.
I didn’t just turn to God—
I walked with Him.
Spoke to Him,
Asked Him.
I clung to Him when nothing else made sense.
When my body hurt,
When my soul ached,
He was there.
Not as a rescue from the storm—
But as my shelter inside it.
I didn’t need signs to believe.
I just believed—
Fully, truly, sincerely.
And I still remember myself—
Not only broken,
But protective of the light still burning in me.
I didn’t speak of the pain.
Never revealed it,
But I lived through it.
Every. Day.
Escape felt like fantasy.
Giving up was easy to imagine.
But I didn’t.
I chose a harder path—
To stay soft in a world that tried to harden me.
To stay kind when cruelty was easier.
To keep moving without noise or rage—
Just movement, faith, and hope.
Some days, survival didn’t feel doable.
It felt like a slow burn.
But I showed up—
For myself.
For the version of me I hadn't met yet.
So I don’t fall,
Or stay on the floor for too long.
And for God, whom I loved deeply,
Who loved me even when I didn’t feel lovable.
I didn’t fight back with fists.
I fought with patience, kindness,
With the refusal to become what tried to destroy me.
And now, I’m proud.
Proud of how I held on—
Not just to life,
But to love.
To kindness.
Proud that I didn’t let bitterness bury me.
That I didn’t become what hurt me.
That I can still give with open hands,
Still feel with all my heart.
I’m proud of walking away,
Not with vengeance—
Nor with vision.
But with scars—
With lessons.
With a self that questions its worth…
And with a lot of uncertainty and doubt.
I didn’t leave untouched.
But I left untwisted.
So no...
I’m not writing to impress.
It’s very difficult to write,
And I might never publish or might delete it,
But
It’s a remembrance.
Of a path that was about to break me—
-Maybe it even did-,
But ended up building me.
Because through the pain,
I didn’t just survive—
I awakened.
I met parts of myself I never would’ve found in comfort.
I found strength I didn’t know was mine.
I learned to choose peace over all else.
To move when my feet were shaking,
To still feel, and to learn that emotions were part of being human.
To walk away—not in defeat, but so that I can live….
And most of all—
I felt God.
Not as an idea,
But as a presence.
I felt Him hold my hand
When no one else did.
I felt Him whisper strength into me
When I had none left.
He didn’t just protect me—
He led me
To something better.
To safety.
To myself.
He led me,
Took me, patted my heart.
Looking back, I see it now:
He didn’t just pull me out.
He walked me through.
And every step,
Every breath,
Every tear—
Brought me closer to who I was always meant to be.
Brought me closer to him...
So yes, I remember.
All of it.
But now,
I remember with gratitude.
Because what tried to destroy me
Became the doorway to my becoming.
And I didn’t walk through it alone.
God was with me—
Hand in hand,
Heart to heart.
And I love Him more than I could ever write.
