I Slipped

On Friday night. I was home. Alone. I watched Sharp objects.

I drank Deep Eddy’s Lemon vodka.

I broke a glass.

& then I used it to cut myself.

I had no reason to do it. It was honestly just the perfect storm, because I’ve been really wanting to break a glass and see what it would feel like to do so and to potentially use it. But, I didn’t feel anything. I saw the blood, but I didn’t feel the pain. It just felt like it was something to do.

It was also the first time I cut anywhere other than my wrist. But, I wanted the lines to be longer, so I cut the length of my thigh.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And I’m afraid to tell me friend that I failed, because I don’t want to let them down.

Continue reading “I Slipped”


I’ve recently come to the conclusion that the reason why it’s affected me so much wasn’t the act itself, but the fact that my choice was taken away.

I know you’re probably thinking to yourself, “Well of course, I could have told you that from the beginning.” but no. You couldn’t have. Because you weren’t there. And you didn’t know the whole story.

It took another physical, not sexual, encounter for me to realize that indeed I wasn’t hurt by him sexually (well I was, but I wasn’t). I was hurt by the fact that things progressed too far too fast and I wasn’t in control of anything. It was all about him and his needs and not once did he realize that I was terrified. Not once did he ask if I was okay. Not once.

Yes, I made the choice to go back to his room, but he made the choice to not listen to me when I spoke.

I was afraid to admit that before the incident I enjoyed our foreplay because maybe that would mean that I wanted it, I didn’t. Let me be very clear, I did not. He was a great kisser and he was hot, and we had fun, but everything that happened after, I did not want. I’ve come to terms with being okay with the first incident, maybe, not really.

But, the sex. No. I did not want. I wasn’t ready and he knew that. He took advantage of me and he took the choice away from me.

He raped me of my choice.

Leaving Well Enough Alone

It’s something I can’t do. It’s something that just don’t think I’ve ever been able to do it.

You know as a child when they tell you not to pick your scabs. I’m the kid who literally  CANNOT help it. The literal definition of a scan is to help you heal:

So, by me picking at it and ultimately peeling it off, I’m essentially slowing down the healing process. This is my life. This has always been my life. And this is what I feel like I am doing right now.

For the past two weeks, I have been happy. Other than the craziness of traveling back and forth between this project and home because of a wedding and almost getting sick as a result of it.. But that’s neither here nor there. 

The point is. For the last two weekends I’ve been in working in New Jersey, but hanging out in New York City on the weekends. I’ve been enjoying life, spending time with my family and friends, eating all the food and drinking when I can. But slowly and surely, I’ve been picking at the scab that has been forming from my last breakdown last month.

However, when I’m triggered or when something comes up, there are times when I am able to just suppress it (ie. not pick the scab). But then there are times when I can’t/don’t want to suppress it and I need to feel all the emotions as much as possible (ie. pick the scab until it bleeds.) As a result, I start to spiral and parts of me hates it, but then other parts of me are oddly satisfied. 

Is it just me? Or does everyone go through something similar? 

No One Asked

You know what I have been thinking about these past few nights? I have told 6 people total that I was raped and not a single one of them asked if I was going to press charges.

Why not?

You think that if someone told you that a crime was committed against them that they would want that person to pay for what they did. But, no one asked if I was going to press charges. Or at the very least, no one asked what I was going to do about it. One of the reason I hesitated to tell anyone was because I didn’t feel like I was ready to deal with the consequences and the aftermath of what happened. But, it never came.

Why is that?

I know it’s not a subject that people want to talk about, believe me. And I know it’s hard to know what I want at times, believe me. It changes constantly. But, why is it okay that I could tell you that I was violated in the worst way possible and your best response is “Fuck that guy” and not “Let’s go after that guy and make him pay for what he did!” Now, I am not saying that that is what I want to do, by any means. The thought did cross my mind, but as quick as it came it left. But, at the very least, why didn’t anyone bring it up? How come they were just so accepting of what happened and so giving of their apologies and condolences? This is not okay. I am not okay, and a ‘no one should ever have to deal with this’ just doesn’t suffice anymore.

What’s wrong with America?

Why is okay that women can be attacked feel that they should just stay silent about it? Why is it okay that I had no control over what happened to my body and there’s still nothing I can do about it? Why is this okay? WHY IS IT OKAY!? It’s not. And it shouldn’t be.

Why am I accepting this? Why do I have to be the one who suffers and he can just go on and live his life like normal? There are absolutely no repercussions for him and that’s my fault. I am the one that’s letting him get away with this. I am the one that’s too afraid of what everyone else would think about me that I can’t even face facts and let the world know that he’s an awful person. But, is he? Or is just what he did awful? And maybe that’s also something that is holding me back. Maybe the fact that I am still separating what he did, from who he is, is what’s holding me back. But, should I be? Is that the right thing to do? Are the two separate?

I don’t want to feel like I am still doing the wrong thing, by not reporting it. But, what’s the point really? There’s no more physical evidence. There’s nothing left, expect for ‘he said, she said’. So, at this point, is it really worth it? By me containing the situation, I am containing the reactions of others. I am able to limit the amount of lives that this affects. Including my therapist, as of right now it’s only 8. (The irony is that’s my favorite number). Maybe, I should just leave it at that. I should just drop the entire situation and try to move on with my life, sicne I can’t do anything to change what happened. But, I can change how I react to it.

I am tired of reacting to it. I am tired of dealing with it. I am tired of feeling helpless. I am tired of worrying about this. I am tired of creating ways to make myself miserable. I am just so tired. I want to live my life, the way it was supposed to be, but I can’t anymore because this is now apart of it.

This was never supposed to be apart of my story and now that it is, I don’t know how to cope. I don’t know how to live without constantly thinking about it, about him, and about how this has and is consuming my life. At times, I feel like if I don’t think about it, or a I don’t talk about it, then maybe it never happened. Maybe, I was just overreacting. I don’t know how I am supposed to respond to this. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. And whatever it is, I don’t think that I am doing it right. I have become to consumed by this.

In fact, I feel as if I am living two separate lives. Perhaps three.

  1. The life that my family believes that I am living: Happy, healthy, working, and applying to school.
  2. The life my friends think I am living: Happy enough for the most part, healthy enough for the most part, and applying to school.
  3. The life that I think I am living: Happy for a moment and miserable the next, healthy enough at this moment, but I was healthier before and could be doing better, and applying to school.

As much as a I am dreading grad school homework. I am actually genuinely excited about it. It’s one of the few life goals that I have right now that I am still happy about. I feel like it’s the only thing that I have done/ am doing for me. Yes, I am a consultant, but my sister helped me start with that. Granted, I have earned my own keep since, but it wouldn’t have been possible without her. And trust me, she doesn’t let me forget it.

Grad school is something that will prove my worth. It is something that will make this whole thing worth it. It’s a way for me to prove to myself and to everyone else, that I am actually good at what I do.

I am actually really good at what I do.

Contrary to how it seems with me barely holding it together at times, I am very good that the things that I put my mind to. I just have felt that in the recent past, people don’t seem to believe that. And maybe it’s because I continue to do things for other people and they don’t seem to understand/recognize my worth. But, I am a damn good person, friend, and educator.

Why isn’t that enough? Why do I have to keep proving that? Or maybe I don’t, but it sure as hell feels like I do. Grad school applications are basically you selling yourself and saying that schools should pick you over other people. I am so tired of proving my worth. I am so tired of continually saying that I am good enough to be here.

I am good enough to be here.

Other people believe it, why can’t I?

I just want to move on, but I feel like I’m stuck.



Edit: I take that back. One person did. The first person I told. She did ask. But, only her.

Tired of Pretending 

I’m so tired of pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. I’m so tired of doing so much for other people, but having noone doing anything for me in return. It’s hard when you give so much of your strength to others & not have any of it given back to you. Maybe I’m being selfish? Or maybe I’m just complaining, but whatever the case may be. I’m tired. And I want to be okay.

I Was Happy

I finally figured out what has been bothering me the most since this Series of Unfortunate Events.

But, first some back story:

I have been traveling for work since October. I had a month long contract in October and nothing again until March. So, sometime in late February I decided that I wanted to do an obstacle course race called The Tough Mudder. My friend and I decided to sign up together. This was before I received the contract in March. I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to work out. Thankfully, when I made it to my March contract they had a gym right next to the hotel and we were able to work out there for free. I tried my best to go everyday and I tried my best to eat healthy. And for the most part I did. Thus, when I went to California for my April project I was already working out about 4 times a week and eating healthy. I was looking good and doing good and proud of it. I worked out consistently for two weeks before the first incident occurred.  After that, everything went down hill. Then the last two weeks of the project, which included the last two incidences, I think I worked out maybe 3 or four times (in 14 days that’s not good when you’re training for a 10 miles 20+ obstacle course).

Okay, so back to present day-ish. A lot has occurred so some more back story:

Last Sunday, I told my friends what I have been dealing with these past two months. (I literally just looked at the calendar and it’s exactly two months to the day.(I began writing this on the 26th)) I finally let them in (see previous post). Immediately after I sent that message, one of the girls, Cree, called me crying and she was distraught that I was going through it alone. She said she had a feeling that something was going on and that she knew something happened in California, but she didn’t expect it to be this. Everyone said, that I shouldn’t be afraid to make my voice heard and also that they are here for me. These are all things I know, it’s just hard sometimes. But, I digress.

On Wednesday, I was feeling completely shitty. My friend, Jude who is in law school brought up the fact that she was sitting in on a rape case and I stupidly decided to look up the facts of the case and the victim was unconscious during the incident. And as unpopular as this opinion sounds, I considered her lucky because at least she’s not playing the details on constant replay in her mind. So, on Wednesday I asked my friend Jude (my outcry witness) if I was doing the right thing by not reporting it. I mentioned that I didn’t want to continue doing the wrong thing in a series of wrong events. We talked and basically spelled out that would actually come from it. It didn’t help that I got angry, not at her but the situation in general. I felt as if nothing actually mattered anymore and it was pointless to talk about it because it wasn’t going to change the situation. I also, told her that I have been drinking just to feel some type of emotion lately, and that I recently self-harmed. Long story short, she wanted to make sure that I am going to stop self-medicating, to which I responded yes, of course. But, I was frustrated that I realized that talking about it doesn’t help as much as I thought it would and I told her I didn’t want to talk anymore.

On Thursday, I woke up in a mood and stayed in that mood all day. I was just feeling off. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but I was essentially in a funk. Not even the upcoming trip (at the time) to Savannah was helping, in fact I wanted it cancelled and I was hoping the weather would play a part in that, it didn’t. Anyway, to try and get out of my funk, I went and got my nails done, all whilst a tornado warning was going on and funnel clouds were seen near my location. Fast forward to after work, I wanted to see if Cree was free. I wanted to be around people, but at the same time I wanted to be alone. So, when she told me she couldn’t meet up I was both saddened and relieved at the same time. She asked me later that night if I was okay and I said that I didn’t want to talk anymore. I think I worried her and hurt her feelings, but I honestly was in one of my funks and talking didn’t seem to be working. (Per Wednesday’s conversation I think I was just done and had given up.) Later that night she asked if I wanted to grab lunch on Friday. I agreed.

So, on Friday, I woke up and had to clean the house for the two people who were coming over to go to Savannah with me. I woke up crazy early and started cleaning. I then received and email for another contract. (I had an interview two days prior on Wednesday). So after I finished cleaning I had onboarding documents that I needed to fill out, which took longer than expected. So I was delayed. We were supposed to meet at 1:45pm, but because, of paperwork and traffic, I didn’t get there until 2:30pm. Stupid Atlanta traffic.

When I arrived, we were both hangry so we got food first and then ate and talked about randomness. It was nice. She asked me how I was feeling this morning as opposed to the night before and it was hard to explain into words why that day was just harder. We spoke for a while just going back and forth about why it wasn’t my fault, how it doesn’t define me, how I didn’t ’cause’ it, etc. And then it happened.

It finally hit me. Almost two months into it why I have been down on myself, why I have been having bad days, etc. Prior to the incidences I told you that I was working out and eating healthy. I was losing weight and gaining confidence. Essentially, I was happy.

I was SO happy.

I was finally on the right track to being the person I know I can be, healthy, fit, beautiful, with a job. And then just like that. Everything came crashing down. He took more than my virginity that day. He took my confidence, my trust, my hope, my motivation, my care, my will, my faith, my strength, he took me.

The second I said those words, “I was happy” tears began to flow. (the second time I have truly cried over this.) I cried because I realized that that was the case, I was happy before all of this happened and now I am not, I cried because I finally understood somewhat why I was in this funk, and I cried because honestly it just felt good. Cree was happy to see that I was letting myself show emotion over this. But, as quickly as the tears came, they went. I had to dry them up because I didn’t want to seem weak, I didn’t want to wallow. I wanted to be over what was making me feel this way. Now that I knew what was wrong, I wanted to get passed it.

Moral of the story:

I’m glad that I have started letting people in. I am glad that my friends know and I have someone to talk to on days where I just can’t deal with my thoughts anymore. I am truly blessed to have friends like that.

I am also glad that I figured out what has been bringing me down these past two months other than the actual incidents themselves. Because now that I know, I feel like I can start to move past this.

Remember, the five stages of grief I posted  a while back? I guess I finally hit the depression stage. I was hoping to skip it.

My weekend in Savannah was good, because I didn’t feel the pressure to talk about it, even though one of the girls knew about it. At first, I was waiting for her to bring it up and then I realized she wasn’t going to and that was fine by me. I was able to enjoy the weekend and I didn’t even think about him once and  I wasn’t sad once. I was happy. I was happy without feeling guilty about it at the same time (which has also been the case lately).

Now I know I can be happy again and that is just something that I need to work towards, because it is so doable. And I want to get back to where I once was.

I don’t want this to be a defining moment in my life. I want it to be just another Wednesday.




Things I’ll Never Say

Avril Lavigne wrote a song entitled, “Things I’ll Never Say” and those lyrics have been on repeat in my for the last hour. Of course I’m going to tell you why, but first the lyrics.

I’m searching for the words inside my head

‘Cause I’m feeling nervous
Trying to be so perfect

If I could say what I want to say

Guess, I’m wishing my life away
With these things I’ll never say

It don’t do me any good
It’s just a waste of time
What use is it to you
What’s on my mind
If ain’t coming out
We’re not going anywhere
So why can’t I just tell you that I care

Things I’ll Never Say – Avril Lavigne

Earlier today, at work I had to take Theo who is entering into 8th grade in the fall to get some books, because all the books that he has at home are at a reading level that is way too young for him. While we were searching for books, which was a chore (tell me why this kid didn’t even want to go into the bookstore instead he wanted ME to go in alone and pick out a book for HIM to read. When I asked if he was serious he said yeah, you would know what I would like to read. Like Boy, Bye.)

Anyway, while we were in there he found a couple of books and then handed my the book 13 Reasons Why. To which I replied, I don’t know if you are old enough to be reading this book and anyway I have to ask your parent’s first. But, he claimed that he’s seen the show and that he parent’s knew that he watched it. So I said we could get it, but I still wanted to run it by them of course.

Parts of me was like, yeah this book is definitely too mature for him, but then other parts were like he was interested in a book and really wanted to read it, so who am I to stifle that, especially when he hates reading.

Long story short we get home, both parents say no. Dad was an aggressive no and didn’t want him reading or watching the show and was mad when he found that he did watch a little bit of it. Mom was just like a shocked, “yeah no”.

Which really got me thinking, At what age did I learn about suicide?

I think I was about his age. I don’t know if you guys remember the website Xanga. But, Xanga was where I first started online journaling. I had two pages. One for all of my poems that I used to write (they weren’t really poems just stream of consciousness middle school angst) and another was about my everyday woes of middle school. Anyway, since my poem page was more of a secret page I had followers on there that I didn’t really know. I met a girl on there who used to harm herself and we started talking. At first, I just really wanted to help her, she was looking for a friend and I thought I could be that one. I think she had written on her blog that she had been hospitalized a few times for suicide attempts and I think that was the first time I had really heard anything  about the word or someone wanting to do it.

Growing  up in church, you learn that suicide is a sin. Growing up in my household, you learn that suicide is selfish.  So, I learned both.

Side Note Confession: I have thought about suicide a lot. Never far as to how I was going to do it, just really death in general. For instance, as I am driving I think about how easy it would be for me to  get into an accident. And not even necessarily with another person, I think about ramming my car into walls or off bridges, etc. Aside from cars, I’ve thought to myself a couple times during self harm incidents what would happen if  I cut too deep and couldn’t stop the bleeding. I have never acted on these thoughts obviously, but they are unfortunately still there.

The Xanga girl was one of two interactions that I online with suicidal people.  The second one was a friends little sister. Somehow we started messaging on AIM and she told me her story and how she didn’t want to live anymore and I just talked to her. I made sure she was okay, and didn’t want to harm herself so permanently anymore.

I bring this all up just to say, and I asked my friends when they learned about suicide to get a general census (they all said about middle school age), at what age can kids start to learn about it. Also, why not now? If he’s (Theo) is interested why not let him read it and we discuss the themes within the book.

I get not letting him watch the show, I don’t even want to watch the show, the first thirty minutes is already vastly different from the book and I don’t approve. Not only that, everyone that I have heard that watch the series has said that it glorified suicide which I  am not here for. But, what I don’t get is why we’re so afraid of the topic. Some people have said that maybe it might put the idea in his head if it wasn’t already there. I feel like that’s not wholly plausible. If someone never thought about murder and watched Dexter or How to Get Away with Murder, I don’t think the idea is now in their head to go and commit murder.

But, I  definitely get it. Wanted to shield your child is something that every parent goes through. But, at what point in time are you making subject so taboo that they will feel comfortable coming to you. I know for a fact that I couldn’t go to my parents about suicide because they would just shut it down as something that’s selfish and stupid. So I kept that and a lot of things inside. There were and still are so many Things I will Never Say for fear of rejection, judgement, and disappointment. But, it’s not fair you know?

I’m not just talking about suicide now, but all the things that make us uncomfortable. It’s not fair that we can’t talk about them. Or that we are not allowed to talk about them. I shouldn’t feel uncomfortable talking about the female reproductive system with my girls, or sex in general, or anything of importance. I feel like I have tried to be perfect for so long I have forgotten how to be vulnerable.

There were so many things that I was told not to talk about by so many people that I have just stopped talking about everything.  I am very selective when it comes to sharing my information with my friends because at the end of the day I don’t want to get hurt. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to them as my friends because it looks as if I can’t trust them.

The moral of the story is this, I feel like there are certain things that we should talk about openly now that way people don’t feel ashamed to talk about them later in life. Because God forbid Theo’s ever suicidal, I want him to be able to go to someone to talk about how he’s feeling without fear of judgement and ridicule.

I just want him to be able to be open and honest about the same things I am having trouble with expressing now. Which is basically everything.

Alex. ❤



Timing & Strength

So, I had another appointment yesterday. It did not end well.

For those of you who have ever been in therapy (my third time), have you ever tried to ace/win a session? You know, you walk in with bullet points ready, you have everything laid out and how you want to say it. You begin by painting the perfect picture, of how even though you’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions these past two weeks, you’re fine now and getting past it. You let the therapist know that although something has come up recently you have a fairly good grasp on the whole situation. Only, it’s all a lie and you don’t realize that until time is up.

Situation: My rapist, that’s his name now, texted me out of the blue on Sunday:

“The last virgin in Georgia… whats good”

Like what in the literally FUCK? Who the fuck does that?  Who does he think he is? Why is he texting me now? He has had my number for two months? Why now? What could else could he possibly want from me? Anyway, I waited about 5 minutes and decided not to return to old habits of my obsessing over the text and I remember, I still wanted to take back some of my control. So I decided to delete it. Within five minutes of me receiving the message, it was gone.  Just as simple as that, right? Wrong. Two hours later he responded:

“You wondering who it is yet? Your favorite person from work”

NO, just no. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to say that. No, you’re not. I responded about an hour later, “Not ringing any bells?”

“Really? I’m crushed”

And then he fucking calls me. Of course, I am not going to answer. I didn’t. I texted back and lied and said I was at dinner and couldn’t talk. He told me to, “holler at him later”. I didn’t respond and I didn’t holler. He texted me the next day and I tried to keep my responses as short as possible, so he would stop texted me. He didn’t get the message and the last text he send was Tuesday night,

How have you been?

I felt as if I was also going through an internal conflict, If I continue to respond to him, does that mean he didn’t rape me? Or that he did and I am okay with it? Am I condoning it? Therefore, not rape? AND If I don’t respond what is he going to think about me? Will he be like, this bitch, who does she think she is? BUT it was the thought of me having to tell him that he raped me that terrified me the most, because clearly didn’t know he had.

And that’s what ruined my session. That’s what made me lose my winning streak. It wasn’t even the fact that he texted me, I thought I could care less. But, I asked my therapist what do I do if he texts back? She basically said I can’t tell you what to do, but go with your gut.

So I lost it, and started to spiral. I thought of all the different scenarios that could have transpired and it was the idea of me having to tell him what he did. That’s what I couldn’t get a grasp on. That’s what made me spiral even more and take me back to square one where I was asking myself, why didn’t I push harder? Why didn’t I just leave? Why wasn’t I stronger?, etc.

Our time ran out, and I know for sure I ran over, but I just didn’t want to leave. It was at that moment that I felt like everything I worked so hard for to put past me, all the progress I made, it was all lost.

It shouldn’t be my job to tell him that HE raped ME. However, the fact that he is just so oblivious makes me question everything.

But, I said I didn’t want to have sex, I said I wasn’t ready, I said I can’t. And I am sure as hell I said stop. But, for him to not even acknowledge that sex happened and I am no longer a virgin, pisses me off.

He took something and he doesn’t even know he took it, or he doesn’t think he did because it didn’t last long or it was mainly anal. Regardless, he took it away from me and he doesn’t even care. Or know. Or care.

Anyway, after my losing session with my therapist, I went to the car and broke down in tears. I had already purchased tickets to see Wonder Woman (amazing movie, btw) but I didn’t want to be alone from the end of my appointment at 5pm and the beginning of the movie at 7:30pm, so I called a friend and asked to go to dinner.

I unwillingly explained that I was leaving a therapy session and didn’t want to be alone. Even though she was working out, she cut it short and met me at Chili’s. I ordered a margarita to calm my nerves, obviously I forgot alcohol was a depressant, or didn’t and just didn’t care. But, by the time she got there I was already crying again. She asked if I wanted to stay and what should she do. I just didn’t want to be in my own thoughts, so I asked her to  describe her day for me.  Anything to distract me. Eventually, I stopped. I didn’t eat much, but the food I ordered was good.

Back to the topic at hand however,  she didn’t ask me what was wrong. She just asked if I was okay at the beginning. I didn’t know if I would have been willing to tell her in such a public setting, but at the very least I think I would have at least liked to have been asked.

Which brings us back to not only the topic and title at hand, but something my therapist said that I’ve always wanted.

“I wish your friends cared about you the way that you care about them.”

In one of my close group of friends, two of them are in professional schools and the third one is working. So, I always feel bad coming to them with problems because they have problems of their own. They have the stresses of law school and a Master’s program, and a job that doesn’t treat you like the invaluable asset you are.

Not only that, it’s never the right time to let them know. Everyone is never free at the same time and when they are, someone else has already posed a problem to the group and I don’t want to steal their spotlight. Plus, it’s awkward when having group calls to bring the mood down. Finally, I don’t know if this is something to be shared just in FB messenger or in video call, or even in person. I know there will never be a right time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still hope for one though right.

In the other friend group, there is only two of them and they are more open with what’s going on, which should make it easier for me, but it doesn’t. Because one is getting married and dealing with that and the joys and stresses of that and the other one is just now going through a rough patch with her boyfriend so we have to focus our energy on her.

Granted with both group of friends it’s not even just a timing issue. It’s the fact that I don’t know how they are going to react and I’m scared.

But, back to her statement. I have always felt that way. I always feel as if I am a better friend to my friends than they are to me. That was a dilemma that I faced in college and it almost broke me. I have always been the one that people come to for advice, or just to have someone listen. I am always asking if people are okay, and letting them know that I am there for them, etc. But, no one really does that for me and it sucks.

Even though, I am not sure I will tell them, I guess I just like to be asked, you know. And you never know, maybe I will. Maybe I have always wanted to, but no one has ever asked, at least not without being prompted, and I hate that. Because some days, I am not okay, but I have to be…

For them.



All She Can Do Is Write

I’ve realized now that talking about it, doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t make it any easier and it doesn’t give me back my virginity. It doesn’t do anything, but remind me of the fact that I could have prevented it all. It reminds me of how I should have been stronger and pushed harder. I should have voiced my opinions louder. And more simply, it reminds me of how I shouldn’t have gone back to his room. The first time. Or the second time. And more importantly, the third time.

I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I didn’t want that. 

I’ve told one person. My outcry witness so to speak. She advised me to speak with a counselor. I did. We did an initial session, but they’re booked and I don’t know when I can speak with someone again. But, I’d rather talk to a professional than my friends, because my friends can’t do anything for me, other than feel bad. Also, most likely try to convince me to press charges. (I’m not going to). 

I guess I don’t want them to know because I don’t want to go into details again about what happened. Because, I don’t want to have to convince myself again that it wasn’t my fault. I know it’s not, I’m starting to believe that now. I’ve just come to this good place and I don’t want to go back to the self blame game.

But, two of my friends are now pressing the issue. What do I tell them? Do I have to tell them? I don’t, right? But, I don’t want them to guess and or continue to harass me. But, I also don’t want them to know. But, I opened Pandora’s box when I said,

“All men are trash.”

I say it with my other group of friends all the time, and they don’t pry, they just agree. That wasn’t the case here. But, maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I let it slip that I had a bad experience with a guy because I wanted them to know. Subconsciously. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a accident.

Either way, I’m stuck in a dilemma. I’ve told them that I don’t want to talk about it. But, one came back with and I quote..

“I think we need to talk through it. What else is the point of having confidential girl friends”

I get that, I truly do, but I don’t like talking about me anyway, at least not anymore. And I definitely don’t know how to say this. Like, oh yeah, by the way, I was raped in California.

Not really dinner conversation.

I guess I’m just not ready to let my friends know that I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.

So for now, writing is easier than talking. It always has been and I’m afraid it always will be. Because here, I don’t see your reaction immediately, so I feel more comfortable with giving more details.

Here, I feel like I’m talking to the perfect listener, my imaginary perfect best friend, or my perfect psychologist. The only person who won’t be burdened by my problems. They are always available to listen and they never judge, or say something that I don’t want to hear. Also, I trust you to never get sick of me and stop responding (even though you might not respond now).

There’s something freeing about laying your story on the line for everyone (strangers) to read free from judgement and ridicule. But, in the same breath there’s something confining about not being able to let your friends in and constantly keeping secrets..

It hurts a little. Okay, well a lot. But, I’ve been hurt before when it comes to telling my stories and secrets and I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to lose another friend. So, I just keep my emotions to myself and write it down later and process it on my own. Until, I can’t anymore and then I break down and tell someone.

So for now, this is my solution. This is all I can do. And this will just have to do.