When I first moved into the neighborhood I used to reside in, you were one of the first people I met. Your brother introduced himself and I learned that the girl next door, his sister, happened to be my age. The first time I came to introduce myself, I remember being nervous about going to the door. I was socially awkward and insecure. Rejection was a big fear of mine. My ex-step brothers and my brother had to keep telling me to ring the doorbell. I probably went up to the door and ran away a good two or three times. I was afraid of people not finding me “interesting” or “cool”. My tongue was constantly tied when it came to speaking to others. How does one make an introduction? How does one bond with another human being? I still don’t know how to do that, so I’m just faking it as good as I can to be socially outgoing, though the introvert in me is rattling.

I remember being in fifth grade and you went to the opposite school. In the morning, most of us would take the bus as you drove off to school in the opposite direction. Though this was true, after school got out, you welcomed me into your friend group and I soon found myself hanging out and socializing more often with yourself and other kids from the neighborhood. I found myself laughing more often. I felt myself feeling safe and comfortable more often. We all got together to watch movies, play guitar hero, make funny videos on our outdated flip phones, ride our bikes around, and play manhunt late at night. There was a sense of adventure.

Eventually, as we started getting older and going through middle school, everyone was finding themselves a bit more and developing themselves away and within the group at the same time. Let’s face it, puberty is awkward and trying to find yourself in a new environment is hard. Though this was true, there was this mutual acknowledgement and kindness between us.

When high school came along and after my father got divorced again, I became more quiet and interacted less with the people I used to spend time with everyday. I was undergoing physical, mental and emotional abuse by him in the year of 2012 and it didn’t end until my senior year of high school. By the time senior year of high school hit, I had a restraining order. I didn’t know how to process and deal with the extremities of what was happening, which made me become more quiet than I was before. I didn’t want to socialize with anyone because after dealing with so much, you start to believe in the insecurities that someone is telling you.

One night, one of the first nights of the abuse that summer of 2012, my father got mad at my brother. I don’t think there was any solid reason to get that angry to the fact that you physically abuse your son who was only in eighth grade at the time. It was the liquor and whatever he was shooting up behind our backs taking over. I remember hearing my brother go into his room to get away from him and I saw my father through the open door, crushing my brother as he laid on top of him. I started grabbing him in attempt to get him off of my brother and yelling. I forget how things ended with that situation that night. After dealing with so many incidents of his abuse, it all just begins to mesh together and everyday looks the same.

When the incident was over, I went to my room and logged on Facebook to see a message from you. We didn’t talk a lot anymore, just gave each other a friendly smile when we saw each other in the hallways of our high school. Our conversations were brief. I don’t think I could look you in the eye because I had a feeling you knew how dysfunctional things were getting.Though this was true, you made the effort to reach out. You asked me if everything was okay.

When a time I felt like no one cared or saw me, you acknowledged that something was wrong. You stated you heard a scream and expressed concern. I was filled with embarrassment that this was what my life was becoming. I was afraid of what would happen to my life if I were honest. When I lied and told you I was fine, you responded again saying that if anything bad happened to my brother or I, you would be upset. You asked again whether I was sure that, that was the answer I wanted to give. I didn’t respond. I ignored it because I knew if I acknowledged it, things would become more real. More and more people would get involved. Eventually, I wanted that. I didn’t want to keep sweeping his abuse under the rug. At the beginning, I thought I could handle it. I thought maybe he wouldn’t hurt me.

I never did thank you for sending me that message. Looking back at the sincerity in what you wrote, I feel truly touched. Years later and it still means a lot to me. Thank you for being a genuine person with character. I see what you’re up to now online and on Facebook and I’m truly astounded by the powerhouse you are. You have such a genuine soul and are a compassionate person. Even in your youth that was something part of your character. Though our communication has drifted away since middle school, I look at what you have done and are doing and I am so incredibly proud. I’m sorry that this thank you has come so late down the road. I’m not sure if you remember sending that message, but I do. I think about it every so often. I have been wanting to say “thank you” for the longest time. I’m glad I finally found the words.