#this took three years

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.