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“There are good days and hard days for me—even now. Don’t let the hard days win.”
And the rage rose up in me in such a mighty wave that I had no thought in my head but wrath: at myself, what I’d been forced to do, what had been done to me, to him.
I was unhappy—not just broken. But unhappy. An emotion, I realized. It was an emotion, rather than the unending emptiness or survival-driven terror.
Maybe teach the others who were like me: broken in places and trying to fight it—trying to learn who they were around the dark and pain.

