I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s been almost a year and every time I try to say it out loud it’s just too hard.
Even when I tell the story, I never say that word. That one word that makes me the victim, a statistic. Why would anyone choose to be a statistic if they don’t have to be? If I don’t say that ONE word it never becomes real and I never have to admit that he really did it.
I said I didn’t want to. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with it. He’s married, and why would I want to have sex with someone who’s married? I wasn’t okay with it, but I didn’t fight him off. I didn’t punch him in the face. I didn’t scream and beg for him to stop, so how can I call it that one word?
When it was over I cried. I have nightmares and panic attacks all the time. I can’t sleep at night. I feel numb and I can barely think straight. I feel my blood boiling when his name is mentioned in a conversation and I can’t breathe if I see his picture pop up on my Facebook page, because some of my friends are his friends, too.
But I still can’t say that ONE WORD.
Maybe one day I’ll know how to be that brave, but I’m too scared and too weak, and I’m not ready. Not yet.
you aren’t weak and non of this was your fault… nothing was your fault.
don’t you see? you already are strong and you are brave. what it takes to tell your story, i don’t think i’ve ever known that kind of courage. there is no word you have to say because you were brave enough, you were strong enough… and you let it out.
neither him, nor what happened has power over you. you decided to tell your story, you decided to let it out, and that is no where near a victim in my book.
…you are a heroine.
love, matt
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