The memory is now as much a part of me as the tattoo on my collarbone. It refuses to leave, refuses to let go, refuses to be forgotten.
As weird and jumpy I am now, it was even worse while we were still dating. Anyone who raised their voice or got frustrated with me would then see me basically dissolve into tears.
have loved men
who named my mouth
Women throughout time, have been subjected and oppressed by sexual violence at a level that most men will admittedly never experience, but if it’s important to give victimized women a voice, that same voice should be granted to men as well.
I got so used to fighting that I don’t know how to lower the gloves and say the fight is over.
My story is not unique. Not even a little.
I’m a survivor. I should be grateful that I made it here, that I’m alive. I should be grateful that I have found the strength to not end my life when that is all I want to do.
Like most women, when I was raped I did nothing. I didn’t say anything because I was sure no one would believe.
The genius of the show is that it evolves.
You deserve to be happy and safe. I want to end this letter the way I started, just for emphasis. You are loved. You are important. You have so much worth in the world.