Sometimes, in the night, I start to feel all the places I'm broken and recall how each was broken by their attempts to crush the spirit out of me and eradicate the me in me. It makes me despair, but it also arouses in me the determination to drag myself to my figurative feet and shout at them:
You failed! I'M STILL HERE!
You gaslit me to convince me that I was defective and wrong and deserving of nothing, that it was my moral duty to stop complicating your lives by being who I am, indeed, by even existing at all. But though I'll never erase the gashes you put in my psyche,
I'M STILL HERE
You tried to erase the me in me and put a robot with my face in my place. You drove the essential me into hiding in the deepest recesses of my mind, where it's still trying to find the way out,
BUT I'M STILL HERE!
You put me through years and years of hell, hell that like some caustic poison gas ate away at my spirit and crippled my soul,
BUT I'M STILL HERE!
My soul stands up on its twisted legs and defiantly raises its arms to the sky (arms which have bends in odd places where the bone was broken and never allowed to be set or splinted.) Simply staying alive is a kind of victory, and my soul shouts its victor's cry to the world:
I'M STILL HERE!