You’re selfish. You’re selfish. You’re selfish.

I run.

Feet pounding, arms pumping, pulse throbbing, hands fisting,

and this is my mantra:

You’re selfish. You’re selfish. You’re selfish.

With each footfall, each time my sneakered foot hits the sidewalk,

You’re selfish.

My breath is carefully controlled, in one two three, out one two, one two three, one two

you’re selfish you’re selfish you’re selfish

My God, I’m like a broken record.

One two three, one two, one two three, one two,

I am miserable, I am miserable, I can’t do this anymore.

One two three, one two,

“When people insult you over and over again, you start to believe them,”

I read once on Tumblr in one of those angst-filled posts about abuse,

and I agree.

Because you’re selfish, you’re selfish eventually turns into

I’m selfish, I’m selfish, and this is the part where I become a broken record,

a broken record from a broken family in a broken home.

One two three, one two, still I run.

I run, and by now I am so exhausted that all of my energy goes into running and my mantra is

lost,

now I can hear the music playing on my iPod, I can hear it over the din of my own thoughts,

and it’s an old hit, a song I haven’t listened to for a while:

what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger/stand a little taller.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

As in, the pain I am feeling now will turn my bones into cement and my mind into a steel trap,

as in, the blood and tears I shed now will somehow give me fortitude in the future,

as in, there is a silver lining,

what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,

stronger, stronger, so strong that I will rip my parents’ expectations for me in half with my bare hands,

so strong that I will bench more than the boys on the football team,

so strong that in a sleek business suit and man-killer heels with a briefcase in my hand

the very picture of intimidation will be me,

so strong that nobody, not with their words, not with their punches, will be able to break me.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

Strong, as in I will roundhouse kick the next you’re selfish I hear,

strong, as in my knuckles will be bruised by the time I am finished with you’re selfish.

Strong, as in you’re selfish couldn’t stop me from being the woman I want to be,

strong, as in I will rise up above you’re selfish and grow so tall I will break through the ceiling,

strong, as in the day I will stop running and learn instead to walk with my head held high.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,

so today I run, and tomorrow I run, and for many days to come I will run,

but gradually I will slow to a halt and pant there, hands on knees, drenched in sweat,

and

what didn’t kill me made me stronger.