#im ok tho

my brain is broken and so is my career

How could you know

that night would be in my memory, in my soul for all my life?
That for you it was a great night, for me it was a blank space that started filling with heart-ripping memories that i’d keep forever?
That i cried myself to sleep for months after that.
That i had to cut my hair so i could pretend i was another girl, a new girl.
That for weeks i showered several timea a day and scratched my legs and arms and belly till they bled.
That my skin didn’t feel mine anymore, that i didn’t belong to mysef anymore.
That i trusted you, and now i can’t even see you in the eye and the only thought of being alone with you terrifies me to the point of having a heart attack.
That i had to get away of every relationship i had at that time becausei couldn’t be touched without feeling your hands. Those hands that took everything without asking for permission.
That i have to live with this for the rest of my life, pretending that it’s okay, and that it was a mistake. Thinking that it might have been my fault, because i flirted with you, or because i danced or sat too close, because maybe i shouldn’t have been there.
That it is not considered rape because i didn’t say ‘no’ or fought you, because i was under the influence of some drug, some drug you poured into my drink.
That everytime i see you i want to cry.
That i am ashamed to speak up because i am afraid they’ll call me a slut or stupid.
That after two years i still want to puke at the very thought of that night.
That i am still a little broken, a little ripped.
That sometimes i can still feel your touch and i can still hear your laugh…
That i’ve repressed every memory of you i might have, but i still cry about it on some drunken nights.
That i hate you with all my guts for making me feel like i was anything else but mine…
but i am not yours. i AM mine. i might still be a little broken, a little damaged, but i am mine, and i am fixing myself.

And i am still afraid to open my mouth, to let the words spill…
“why didn’t you say something before?” - i was ashamed.
My friends asking how it was, me asking “why didn’t you stop him?” -“i thought you wanted it”.
i wanted to scream “HE RAPED ME!!”
i still want to scream “IT WAS RAPE!!”
because it was.
and it won’t stop being rape, no matter how many years pass.

Now i am years older, years angrier.

The thing about rape is: it never goes away, it always stays, it leaves a little seed just to remind you that you were touched, that you were played with, that a little part of you was taken and it will never be given back. but its ok. i am ok.

or at least im good at pretending.