Tag Archive: rape


What is Maturity?

Intimate

Ciel and Sebastian from Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)

This week had been interesting… as has every weekend since 8.November.2016. However, this week has been particularly of note for me.

This is the week that the GOP’s token gay man has been ousted from his lofty position. He used to be a senior editor at Breitbart… but in all honesty, I can’t feel too bad for him. He is, after all, a racist, xenophobic, transmisogynistic douche. I’m almost 100% sure that he hated himself.  But more than anything, he’s a troll. With a video that’s been bouncing around there, he lost his book deal, speaking at a conservative convention, and his livelihood.

So, how, pray tell, did he manage this?

By simply going on a syndicated radio talk show and sounding like a spokesperson for NAMBLA spokesman.

So, how did this all come about?

Well he said that every 13-year-old boy should be allowed to have a sexual relationship with older men. Now, keep in mind, this conversation happened on national, syndicated radio. When he was pressed to explain, he doubled down on his pedophilia comment. He didn’t roll it back, or qualify it.

So, what does this have to do with yours truly?

He engaged in an oral sex relationship at the age of thirteen (as many of you know, that’s how I was raped at the age of thirteen).

So, I might just be a wee bit sensitive about that. Because of that one moment, I was repeatedly sexually assaulted by the same person until I was sixteen and intentionally fell off his radar. (For those playing along, that would be until just about my senior year of high school.)

So, before I continue this conversation, I feel like I should explain the differences between my situation and why that matters.

I was raped. After I was raped, my rapist decided that he would use his leverage to get laid whenever he wanted because I wasn’t sure if he would kill me or hurt me again. This persisted for almost 4 years.

This is different because there was no consent (legally or otherwise) … and it persisted, much to my personal shame and emotional pain. While he was older than me, I don’t think it would have been considered pedophilia until he finally turned 18, and I was 15/16-years-old… and even then, it’s iffy. It becomes more like statutory rape…

Regardless, this is important to what happened and how we can watch as the mighty garrote themselves.

So, why does this matter now, especially with Komrad Pussygrabber in office?

Simply this, we now know how low the GOP had fallen. There are any number of things that this person is guilty of, all which progressives are willing to call them out on. But for conservatives, pedophilia is a bridge too far.

We live in a topsy-turvy world these days. Things that should be beyond the pale are now ok (neo-Nazis, anti-Semitism, transmisogyny). Where do we draw that line? We know where the GOP does. What about the rest of us?

NAMBLA

Milo might have also approved of this poster… no really, enjoy the irony of this poster.

 

Sometimes it’s weird how these chains of thought develop even when one processes through all their personal stuff.

I didn’t think I was going to find this whole new random thread among the clutter of others. But as I was writing about my rape again (because each time I find another piece that I hadn’t worked on before). This time… something that has been a huge glaring part of my entire childhood peeked out to say hello.

Lately I’ve been getting plenty of reassurances from my partners that I’m not alone and that they’d be there to help in any way they can. For me, it’s mostly in the form of reassurances. I have to work through this old frayed knot to take it apart and fix it and make it stronger. And the more I picked at it yesterday, I kind of had a come to Jesus moment in the form of feeling horrible about myself.

One of the things that stuck out to me was something I always remember my mom telling me when I was younger. So, along with the abuse that I dealt with when I was at home, I was also relentlessly bullied from the age of 8, which is also when I started puberty… or maybe it was 7. Anyways, when I was far younger than I should have been.

I used to ask my mom for help, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re a young kid, right?

Well, I was never really offered much in the way of reassurance of any kind (which is why they tend to be so powerful to me now). Nor was there an offer of how to cope with the teasing or how to help me lose weight (which is funny because I was a very active child). Instead, I was told I had to learn to fight my own battles. That’s not exactly the most helpful of pieces of advice, now is it?

Especially when you’re an 8-year-old little girl who doesn’t understand why she’s the only one in her grade that needs to wear deodorant and a bra. Where people would make fun of my relentlessly because I was fat, because I was poor… both things I had little control over at the time.

So, instead of anything that would ease me through this abuse, I was once again left to fend for myself, to figure out the best way to deal with it. I did this with no knowledge of psychology or why any of this was happening in the first place. Every time I had a problem I couldn’t solve because I lacked the knowledge to do so, I had to handle it myself.

It was said so often that I stopped asking for help. There was no purpose to ask for something that I wouldn’t get in the first place. So, I spent most of my times trying to figure out how to fix these things… something I had no knowledge of how to do at the time.

So, no wonder I beat myself up relentlessly over why I couldn’t fight back when I was raped. All I ever heard was fight your own battles. It’s why I never told anyone about the rape until I was 18 and taking an abnormal psych class. I looked at the DSM and looked at what I had been experience for those long 5 years and realized that was it. I was dealing with my rape and it made it hard to live.

Even when I sought help, I did it on my own. I went to an outside therapist that had a sliding scale. I didn’t use my health care… but realized that I needed more care than I could afford that way.

Everything I’ve dealt with has been a self-struggle, not by choice but by piss poor design.

So, someone telling me that they’re there for me is a little strange. I’m not used to support. When your life has been entirely self-preservation, the idea of a life raft quickly becomes a little strange. I’m never sure how anyone can help. Especially as I work through this, I’m not sure what more anyone can do but be a sounding board and offer reassurance both verbal and physical, if physical is possible.

This has been… well… pretty much a life-long struggle.

More than anything, this pisses me off. I’ve always felt like I have always been forced to be the adult. I have to be responsible. I have to be in control. I never had a chance to be that child. I had to fight my own battles. I had to watch my sister. I had to provide my food (as in it was in the house, but I had to earn to cook very young). I had to be beaten into submission by any and all means possible (as you can tell, that turned out so well).

Some days I just want to end it all. I’ve been an adult for almost 30 years now. I’m tired. For someone as young as I am, I shouldn’t be so world-weary… yet, here I am. Aged well beyond my years because I had no choice. And now… now I want the freedom to act reckless. I want to be able to do the things that I never could when I was younger. But, for the most part, I don’t. Someone needs to be the adult. Someone needs to be responsible. And I wear that mantle far too often.

Thinking about all of this makes my heart weep. I don’t know how to be a child because I was never one. Why did I have to be the responsible one? Why did I have to be the adult? Why couldn’t I have been able to depend on my parents?

Why did I have to fix everything? I was a child and didn’t have the tools at the time. I wasn’t being told this as a teenager, I was being told this as an eight-year-old. That’s a lot of responsibility for a little kid… and why did I have to do that in the first place? I wasn’t a parent and I certainly wasn’t old enough to understand everything that was going on.

The more I write about this, the angrier I get. I hate that I even had to relinquish my childhood. I hate that I couldn’t ever experience what it really means to be irresponsible. I have no idea what childhood means. To me, it was looking after my sister. It was trying not to get beaten. It was just trying to make it through the day without negative comments about my weight or that I was poor.

This isn’t exactly the childhood that I wanted nor is it one I think that anyone really deserves. It’s what I have to work with though. Sometimes that’s all you really got. So, I’m going to make do with what I have and figure out how to be comfortable accepting the help of others. I like being in the place where I can get help… I just wish I was more comfortable with people reaching out to me.

I made a promise to myself this year. It’s a pretty big goal, especially because I gave it a deadline, but I tend to look at things and tear them apart to make sense pretty quickly. Every time I listen to music from when I was in high school, it takes me back to that time… and how I felt. This was further amplified when I took a day to wander around Telegraph.

Even though things were so different, they’re also very much the same… So, I’m going to attempt to sort through my fear, loathing, and inner pain that I felt all throughout high school in context to the time it was happening. That means talking about the nineties as I remember them from when I was in high school.

Oh, the halcyon days on the nineteen nineties…

Yeah, right. It was all but halcyon. My life was in turmoil. I was abused both by friends at school as well as my family. I had no real sense of safe space. It took me many years to understand that safety isn’t just four walls, it’s the people who you invite into your family. I become more aware of that as every day passes.

Maybe it’s because I now feel more capable of being myself instead of fitting in some pre-poured mold that is gender. I now know the people I’m with are going to accept me for all of me, not because of expectations.

I certainly didn’t necessarily have it when I was younger. I also didn’t understand what my gender really was. Being non-conforming was… difficult. It was so difficult to deal with because there was a lot of puerile jokes, including repeatedly calling me she male… This is what my friends called me.

It made me realize how angry I was. I didn’t lash out like most teenagers. I didn’t lash out at my parents or do things like drink and smoke when I was in high school. My issues… were a little more personal, even if lashing out at my parents would be the entirely appropriate course of action. I did it by hurting myself. More importantly, I did it by cutting myself. It’s a behavior that I kept up with for… well… I think up until I was 25. I’m more to lash out on myself than anyone else.

This included my desire to do heroin. This amplified exponentially after my rape… which occurred not even one month after I started my freshman year. Surprisingly, as hell-bent as I was to actually shoot up… and having it repeatedly offered to me… for some reason, I couldn’t. Everything in my wanted to sublimate, to take the pain away by any means.

But I didn’t…

And I’m not sure why.

I dealt with the pain every day. I would often not fall asleep until 4:30 in the morning, only to need to wake up 3 hours later to go to school. Every time I went to school, it was this cruel reminder of what happened to me, how it felt to be cornered and incapable of leaving. It also brings up the mixed feelings of how I should have been able to fight back, but I didn’t. It’s something that I always take out on myself. I consider myself to be a strong woman, yet I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t get out of the situation myself. Which is something my parents and specifically my mom used to tell me. I need to get myself out of difficult situations.

This is probably why, by and large, that I tend not to talk to people about my issues. I largely deal with them myself. I’ve never felt like I could talk to anyone or depend on anyone… I have always been made to feel that I can only really ever depend on myself… in all ways.

So, I always feel like I should have had the ability to get out of that situation. It makes me cry sometimes because I didn’t/couldn’t fight back.

So, that’s something that I still struggle with. I blame myself for not fighting. I don’t blame myself for the rape itself. That’s something that I need to stop doing. I need to look at myself and realize that it’s not something I could have really controlled.

And while I can say it, I don’t necessarily believe it. That’s the hard part, believing that I couldn’t have fought. I don’t know what to do about it though…

But it’s something that I have had in my life for over half my lifetime now… and the older I get, the bigger a timeframe it will take up. It can’t be like this forever. And it’s something that I will work on and kill (hopefully with fire).

Since I seem to be having huge issues with insomnia as of late (not too terribly surprising), I figured that I would write out things since my brain is keeping me awake (I’ve been up since 3:30). And every time I try to sleep, it feels like a have a cacophony of negative emotions going on at all times.

Now, I’m not really surprised this is happening. I knew that this would after deciding to go somewhere that’s triggering. I did it to myself as a form of therapy. A part of PTSD therapy is to do what isn’t comfortable to make things better. I’m a big fan of going outside of my comfort zone in order to become a better version of myself. If we stick with what’s comfortable, we rarely learn anything about ourselves.

So, here I am… at 5 in the morning… after being up 1.5 hours.

Yesterday was particularly emotionally rough for me. I’m not entirely sure why that is. I felt out of step with things. My brain kept telling me horrible things… things that I just ignored in the past. Apparently, just ignoring it isn’t enough. It’s as though someone gave these horrible, unhelpful feelings a megaphone and no matter how hard I try, I still have to hear it. Instead of ignoring it, I guess I’m going to face it all head first… so to speak.

So, what was I dealing with last night… and am dealing with as we speak?

Well, a big part of it is that maybe I deserved the rape. That I didn’t fight back enough. That I also deserved the abuse that I endured for decades. That I wonder why it had to happen to me. Of course, a lot of this is paired with the lingering illogical and completely unhelpful thoughts that maybe, just maybe I’m undeserving of happiness.

Now, this is something that I’ve always been kind of proud of, even if it doesn’t always help in the short run. While I know I’m having these thoughts and feelings, I also know that they’re not rational. I also understand where they are coming from. I triggered myself. I stood before the spot I was raped. I talked about the details of the place I was in when it happened. Which, in turn, brought back the memories of exactly what happened. Of how trapped I felt in that place. How small and claustrophobic it all was.

And that I’m getting nightmares I largely don’t remember because of this. Every night… sometimes multiple nightmares a night. I’m getting less sleep now. Which goes back into the spiral of negative thoughts. Maybe I’m hoping for something wonderful and positive to come from this. Maybe I’m just hoping for karma to actually start working for me and not against me.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been weary for some time. I feel like I’ve had to shoulder a lot of this burden… and that I need to continue to do so. Even though I have support and help, it’s still up to me to do the dirty work. It’s up to me to handle the feelings and thoughts. And that’s part of the reason I’m continuing to write this out. Because no one can understand what it’s like going through this… unless you’ve had to go through it. And even then, I still need to go through it myself because only I know what it feels like.

I’m also discovering how sensitive I am to things that I didn’t think I was sensitive to… especially when I recognize that I’m guilty of having done them myself. It’s not my place to not let other people make their own mistakes, but it’s my nature to not want to see people hurt… especially when it’s something as simple as not doing something. If I can impart that piece of knowledge to someone (albeit ad nauseam), then I can’t just not do it. At the same time, I know that people have to learn from their own mistakes. It’s the interesting part of me that understands that learning comes from mistakes, but the healer in me wants to make sure that no one hurts. This can be incredibly hard for me to reconcile within myself. I think that once I finally get through my shit, that then I have to repeatedly tell myself, “I have to let people make their own mistakes, even if it means that they have to suffer. No one learns unless it’s from their own mistakes”

After all, a key belief in many versions of Buddhism is that through suffering comes enlightenment.

If that’s true, then when do I get to be one incredibly enlightened being?

Maybe I’m asking too much. All I want at this point is to be a better, happier version of myself. I have amazing things to be happy for. I have some incredibly beautiful things that can make me happy… that do make me happy. I just need to not be afraid to embrace that happiness.

Really, that’s the bigger problem, isn’t it? That I always expect the other shoe to drop. I still do it in all things… even with things that are well established. Maybe that’s the fear I need to get over. It’s certainly the fear that I’ve received for years of abuse. I need to trust what is and stop fearing what might be. More importantly, I need to keep fighting these sleepless nights, these nightmares with the thought that I will be a better person once it’s done. I need to try to fight past the despair that partners this… and drops me into a world of why am I still alive.

I can do this, right?

No, scratch that.

I can do this.

The Inconvenient

I did something that was both incredibly difficult and something I know I needed to do. I went back to the school where I was raped. When I got there, I saw that getting on to campus was going to be easy. While the campus is surrounded by a fence, it was open at several points. That’s good because I didn’t know if I would be able to get near the actual place where it happened.

The days before I went, I kept having dreams about going to the school. The school felt larger than life. It was mostly about the school. I’ve been sleeping less too, but that’s not too surprising given the situation.
I finally made it though. The entire trip out there, I felt apprehensive. I knew I needed to do it, but I didn’t want to. The continuing struggle between wants and needs. While I wanted to not go back, I know I needed to. I need to face this. I need to see it again.

And I did. I even stood in front of the room I was assaulted in. I stood in front of it, staring at the door, the padlocked door. I’m guessing that it’s no longer being used as a production room, but is probably storage.

While there were some minor changes, it still pretty much looked as I had remembered it, as it did when I was 13.

It’s interesting to have some of the feelings I am having. More than anything, I’m not feeling as triggered as I thought I would. I am having PTSD responses to going. I’m getting flashbacks and insomnia is an issue. I’m not sure about the hypervigilance now, but I haven’t really been in large crowds since then. More than anything I feel a combination of sadness and anger. I don’t really feel shame anymore. After all, I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of. It was done to me.

I also have this sense of claustrophobia… but not in the actual phobia sense. I feel like I’m in a closed in space. When I was standing in front of the room, I could see it all again. I could see the room. I could feel being trapped between my rapist and the corner. The area was so small and I had no other way out of it.
Now I’m trying to process being there. I’m working on working through it. The place no longer feels so big, it feels small.

If only that was the only emotional thing that I had to deal with at the time.
As stated before, I’m also dealing with issues from one of my partners. This, of course, reared its lovely little head when I needed him most.

I’m dealing with a lot of negative emotions. It’s so much of an issue that I do feel the need for help and for people to be around. And while I’m not quite comfortable with him going with me in a time where I need to have complete and total comfort, it doesn’t mean that I don’t need that help at all. What I need even less is someone telling me how I’m feeling when I’ve never made any inclination that was the case in the first place. So, getting a message on the day of going to the school and being told to get in contact with him if I want to… is a little upsetting.

What’s worse is having it followed up by a message back telling me that he can’t be here because he made other plans with his other partner…

Yeah. Something he knew about a month in advance and that I might need emotional help during and he tells me that he doesn’t have time for me… yet again.

One can imagine how well that went over.

I already have too much stress going on. And, really, I’m feeling incredibly hurt. When someone says they will be there to help you and then you’re told not only are they not going to be there, but they’re giving preference to their new relationship that is built on dishonesty…

That’s hard to swallow. It makes me question whether this is really a poly relationship. I feel forced out. I feel insignificant. More importantly, I feel like I’m only important when it’s a convenience. That my issues don’t matter. That going back to the place where I was raped and actually facing some really old and scary demons isn’t as important as some stupid dinner.

That fucking hurts.

My therapist warned me about doing this. He told me that he wasn’t sure that it was a good idea because I’m already feeling so emotionally vulnerable. I made sure to make the day as comfortable as possible. I had people with me who I could be that degree of emotionally vulnerable with. I went places to try to make my brain a little happier… a little more calm. I even went to the beach, which has always been a calming place for me. I made sure that every aspect of this was designed to keep me from being a complete and total mess.

And then this happens.

Yeah…

This is not OK. I feel like shit. That I’m unimportant. That I’m an inconvenience.

A Quickie for Today

I’m gonna be doing a quickie post for today. I feel like I need to. I’m feeling pretty mentally bogged down after work yesterday. I’m still feeling particularly triggered.

So, my 2-day a week job is hard on me. My boss is fairly controlling. He wants things done a specific way but never tells you what that means to him. This happens all the time. So, instead of being specific before I start something he’ll then tack on other things and be angry about how it’s not good enough… even though he never stated what he wanted done.

So, he reminds me so much of the guy who rapes me. He needs to desperately keep control of the situation that it becomes a power play and he won’t listen to me, even though he hired me to take care of certain things and this happens to be my realm of ability. Now, this could be because he is on the Tea end of the political spectrum. That means because I’m a girl, I couldn’t possibly know more than he does. But either way, just being around him triggers me.

Then there’s the hours of FoAx “News” I have to listen to. This is why I’m feeling particularly unhinged today.

Fox “News” was reporting on the rape that happened at an Indiana university. Now, if it was called an alleged rape, I would have been annoyed, but it would have been accurate.

Of course Fox “News” couldn’t use the term “alleged”. Instead they said “so-called rape”. This is during their news reporting… not during one of their many opinion pieces they run all day long. I was about to break something, anything… possibly throw a $3000 computer across the room.

Calling it a so-called rape is so incredibly dismissive. It’s like a huge middle finger to a rape survivor. Let me scratch that, it *is* a huge middle finger to a rape survivor. There’s a reason consent is being redefined. It’s not OK for someone to beat the shit out of anyone. It’s not OK to rape someone. It’s especially not OK to do both. If someone says no when you start hitting them, you stop all play.

So, here we go. Rape is a serious issue. It’s emotionally damaging to the victim. But calling something a “so-called rape” is unconscionable.

And it’s the reason I’m upset… and understandably so.

So, I’m feeling… a lot of things. A lot of them are rage and hurt. It puts me back to how I felt when I was 13. It gave me a panic attack… well, several of them. So, I’m having a hard time keeping my head on straight.

I am grateful for my dog. He does a good job of taking care of me. He’s been by my side since I came home last night. He’s not normally a snuggler, but last night he went for the full snuggle. He’s been so close to me. He wants me to pet him and make sure that I know that he’s there for me. As we speak, he’s lying on top of my feet.

I’m still vacillating between being weepy and trying to maintain. it’s hard to deal with… but I’ll get through it. I’ve had to do this before. It might require me sharing some more. It’s not fun and it could be triggering for someone else, and for that I apologize. The treatment for PTSD is to talk about it. Talk it out. Talk about what you’re feeling. I’ve been through a lot of therapy for this and my abuse.

I’ll get past this. I just need to take the time to do so. I need to remember, more than anything, I need to be gentle to myself. I need to give myself time.  I need to remind myself that I’m not the same person and I’m not in the same place I was when I was 13.

More importantly, I need to just breathe.

This is something that I’ve dealt with before. This is something that I’ll probably consistently deal with on and off until I die. Every time I do deal with it, it almost includes a complete mental meltdown or shutdown. Regardless, it’s something that is difficult to deal with and I can only really take it one day at a time.

So, at this point, I’m going to state as I have many times before, that this will be trigger filled. Mostly I’m going to be talking about sexual assault. So, I apologize ahead, but you have been warned.

So, are those of you who are still reading OK with this kind of topic?
You are?

OK.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I was raped when I was thirteen. I didn’t have a say. As far as the guy was concerned, he wanted me to give him a blowjob and that’s all there was to it. I was never asked, I was forced. I tried to pull away, but he overpowered me. I felt like I was drowning and there was nothing I could do about it.

But that’s not the end of this story. It wasn’t as neat an ending as it was a one time event. I truly wish that it were though.

This guy was a classmate. We were both in a radio broadcasting class together. Not only did I have to see him 5 days a week (because school), but there were plenty of locked rooms for him to drag me to.

I was naïve to think that one time was going to be the only time. I admit it. In certain ways I had lied to myself then that it was only that time.

He repeatedly took sexual liberty with my body. I couldn’t say no because I was already afraid to do otherwise thanks to my first experience. He never let me say no or get away. He would always do what he wanted. Of all of this, it summed up to 3 such occurences. The last time was while I was a minor and he was over the age of 18. Given that he didn’t like to take no for an answer, age was also not going to be a deterrent for him.

When I was 18 I finally sought therapy for this… mostly the first occurence. It was the most traumatic and the only one where I actually was afraid that I was going to die. At that point, I also reported it to the police. I didn’t press charges because by the time I reported it (5 years later) it really would be a he said/she said ordeal, though I was fully within the statute of limitations.

It turns out I didn’t need to. A year later I heard he was in prison for statutory rape. In that sense, I felt like I had been avenged. He was doing hard time. I could breathe a little more freely. After all, he would have that label for the rest of his life. Considering that he did that to me… it helped, even if only a little.

Then another 10 or so years pass…

I receive a notification from a social networking site that I’m no longer on… Actually, I received two of him trying to contact me.

I broke down. That’s all I could do. I didn’t want this guy in my life. I still don’t. He stole so much from me because he had to get off. I still fear that he’s going to try and look for me.

I don’t like living in this kind of fear. I know he doesn’t respect my boundaries.

I never contacted him back. I don’t need that kind of toxicity in my life.

But just the action of him contacting me brought me back to when I was 13.I felt like the scared child I was then. Just the mention of his name was enough to make me contact the police.

While I appreciate that he’s probably trying to get his life back together, I don’t think contacting one of your victims is a great way to do it. To this day, I’m not sure I could face him. I don’t think I’m going to give myself the chance to find out.

After all, it was a long battle to get to where I am. It took me a long time to not blame myself. I know now that rape is about power. I’ve let a lot of people take my power (both through rape and abuse). I won’t let any one take it again.

***Trigger warning: I am writing about things that can be difficult for some people, just so you know…***

There are so many things that I’ve been working through at this time… back pain being the least of it, so it would seem.

Dealing with health issues is hard enough. But it seems like something far darker and insidious then just my health issues.

Yes, the back pain is bad. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Usually back pain can be debilitating.

Dealing with rape trauma… that is worse, largely because it’s emotional trauma. It’s hard to just get over the pain. It’s not something that you can repair or fix easily by strengthening muscles. It’s not something that can easily be diagnosed by poking and prodding. It’s something you live with for the rest of your life, like a scar. Unlike a scar, this will hurt for the rest of my life.

It’s something that happened when I was 13. It’s something that I can talk about with relative ease. Telling the story about what happened doesn’t bother me anymore. This is a huge step forward when it comes to processing PTSD. Being able to tell the story while maintaining composure because you’ve dealt with the emotion involved.

I have come to terms with what happened to me. I was forced to give an older classmate a blowjob when I was a Freshman. This guy wanted to use me so he could feel good. He didn’t care if I had actually drowned. All that was important to him is getting off. He didn’t even say anything. He used me like an object.

Saying all that doesn’t hurt me. It’s what happened. And I realized that I had come to terms that that had happened to me was when I reported it to the police, 5 years later.

The emotional scaring is still there though. It’s not something that ever goes away. There are times where the feelings from that time rear it’s ugly head. I start to have the attention span of a puppy. I have issues going to sleep, then staying asleep. I start becoming irritable and depressed. I also start to really dislike myself. Because no matter what, I still blame myself.

I should have been stronger.
I should have fought more.
I should have hurt him physically like he hurt me.

Even though I consciously know that there’s nothing that I could have done to stop it, I still feel like I could have. Then I feel bad because there are somethings I can not do, because the thought of it squicks me out. Sometimes it brings back all the feelings from that moment.

Frankly, it sucks. It sucks that someone took away my ability to have a more mentally healthy life. That I had to be more psychologically and emotionally damaged. I’m still angry about it. Someone decided that allowing me to be the thirteen-year-old I was. That I had to be their sexual toy.

And that’s something you don’t just get over. It’s something that stays with you forever. I have learned that it’s just best to try and take it one day at a time. Sure, it’ll set me back a little to the point where I don’t really have any concentration, but if I keep working through it I can eventually have the tools to combat it.