Once I became a young adult, a childhood full of abuse turned into anger and feelings of worthlessness. Today, I simply feel like damaged goods . . . but I’m Ok with it all now. I’m still awesome, like an antique that simply needs restoring. It took years, but I’ve restored myself. The worst parts of her have stopped flashing in and out. The whips, the belts, the electrical cords, all but empty memories. I no longer remember what they felt like. When I think of the times being locked in the closet for hours, I only remember the darkness and quiet. I have forgotten what I use to think about to pass the time. I’m damaged goods, but not broken. And definitely not worthless.