The thing about sexual abuse is people think it's just sexual abuse.
For me it was always more. They think well that
Happened. That happened to her, and It's just... it's just that
They stick you in a room with a counselor when you rather them speak to you personally.
They can never speak to you.
I Guess it's just a communication thing.
Without communication you question,
How come you're able to get over your partner in two days,
When you've been together for five months?
Why you can't stand your body when everyone finds it exquisite?
Why am I so lazy yet, I want to do so many things?
What am I crying for now?
Why do I love sex? But I hate it?
Does anyone truly like me?
Why do I not care today yet, I am a thunderstorm tomorrow?
Somedays I want friends,
Other days I hate everyone.
Does anyone truly understand me?
Am I living too fast?
I Mean it wasn't my fault my childhood was taken from me.
What did I do now? what did I do hate me so much?
Am I depressed?
Or am I looking for attention?
You call me lazy, but I'm just tired.
Do I have anxiety, or do I just need to get over it?
I Should just get over it right?
Do you remember me? Do you remember me or did you forget my struggles because I stopped speaking?
It's not like you make it easy for me to talk.
These are just a few thoughts though in my brain they are so loud.
Before I turned ten I've been touched by men countless times.
Felt up like a doll without a heartbeat.
When I was ten, I allowed a man to choose me and use me up in his special room.
The room with palm tree curtains.
For half a year I smiled and pretended it was a game,
as he suggested; while I pounded my small fist against his back.
Until one day my mother barged into my room and asked if he had been touching me.
I guess she noticed I was misbehaving.
The cops came and I said it was just a touch,
Even though it was always more.
On my rapist's prosecution day I smiled while my mother cried.
My lawyer read my letter out loud to him,
I remember bravely writing,
God didn't give you a daughter for a reason.
Thinking well if I can't put him in jail perhaps I can try to hurt him by not being silent.
I Learned all on my own,
escaping the cliche questions of therapy and speaking proudly to whoever I wanted about what happened to me.
I went from this girl in middle school who never brushed her hair, to a woman who cared about herself even though
She wasn't sure if others cared for her.
I'd learned by myself.
I had to because if I waited around for my family to ask if I was okay,
I would never be okay.
There are days when I'm hurt and the symptoms of sexual abuse are attempting to murder me.
But for the most part I am here.
Surviving.
Bleeding,
I'm bleeding but still crawling.
It takes strength and I gave it to myself by speaking to the reflection in my mirror.

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