Probably big TW! Just a small piece of my story I wanted to share. I'm not ready yet to type out my whole story, but when I'll get there eventually, I know you guys will be understanding and respectful about it, and that alone puts me at ease a bit (thanks in advance).

I've got a scar on my foot. It itches when the weather changes, which is why I had to think of it. It's my favourite (and isn't it a bit weird, having a favourite scar? Never mind.)

Due to some pretty bad sh*t happening, I ended up in the foster system for about half a year. Because of aforementioned sh*t, I was extremely aggressive and a selective mute at the time, also I ran away a lot, which led to me bouncing from family to family. My memory of this time is sketchy, but I know that, towards the end of it, I had some more bad luck (story of my friggin' life...). I don't remember their names, but it was a couple with a son, who was even younger than me. The father was an alcoholic and physically abusive and his wife was too intimidated by him to do anything.

Again, I don't remember much of my time there, but my medical file fills in a lot of blanks. Concussion, contusions, cigarette burns, malnourishment.

He hurt all of us, me, his wife and even his son, who I guess must've been about 3 at the time. I was 6. What I do remember is how it ended. He came back even more drunk than usual and beat his wife, then attacked me, first hitting me as well, then attacking me with a knife. I managed to get away fast enough so he didn't hit anything improtant, but he hit my foot. It went all the way through, though I was lucky and it didn't injure the bone or a sinew.

It was probably a combination of the concussion, adrenaline and pain, but I remember that in that moment, a grown man attacking such a little girl (and even for my age I was tiny back then) struck me as just so utterly ridiculous I started laughing. Just stood up and laughed right in his face, bruised and with a knife through my foot. He was so confused!

His wife used the opportunity to finally call the police, then grabbed me and her son and locked us in the bathroom until they arrived and we were taken to the hospital.

Whenever I feel weak, touching that scar reminds me that I managed to do this, that, although it might have been reckless, I stood up to someone I had no chance against and I *won*. It reminds me that even when it doesn't feel like it, whatever sh*t gets thrown at me now, I can still get up and laugh into life's face. I survived.

I hope 6yo-me would approve if she saw what I've turned out to be so far. Considering the cirumstances, I think I'm doing alright.

Thanks for listening!