When the belt rained down blow upon blow and my mother screamed at me “Do you think you’re special? Do you think you’re better than us?” I silently screamed “Yes!” I had to be special, I had these eyes – surely they were the mark of someone special, that I wasn’t actually a part of this family, that I belonged to another. No one else in my family or friends had my eyes – one full green, one full brown. When my brother sexually abused me and told me that I was “nothing special” I silently cried “I am special”, “you’re not even one of us.” he told me “We found you in an orphanage.If you tell anyone – they’ll take you back there”. I wished they would take me back there.
Now as every year passes, the older I get, the further I get away from the nightmare I endured as a child, and when I step into a beautiful day, I feel myself flourishing, because despite what happened to me, the fact that I had these eyes – really made me believe that they were a mark of something good and great, that I was someone, and that I would get out of the nightmare….and I did.
Now when someone says “your eyes are amazing” I reply “Yes – they are a bit special” because they are. When I catch sight of them in my mirror – I only see the beauty and potential.
