R***’s not something where you just go, “Well, get over it” or “Believe in love and peace and it’ll all be over.” Well, f*** you, that isn’t the answer. It’s a great thought, ok, but you can go and stick crystals up your b*** and get on with it. I’m all for love and peace, but that’s not the side I work on. If somebody would talk about it, or worse, joke about it, I would be ready to kill. That’s not healing. I’m not able to be with anyone again. And it will never be the same as it was before..
Something comes up like bubbles to the surface, bringing up another part of ourselves that has been silent; that we were in the dark about. Lurking. Nightmares aren’t really my favorite thing, I want to feel safe, period. My soul wants to feel safe not terrorized.
For 18 months, I shut down that place inside myself that needed to rage, cry, ask questions and basically just express herself. But the last thing I want to be known as is ‘The girl who got raped’…