Fuck you for making me sick for a week and making me wonder what was going wrong inside my body one more time. Fuck you for making me doubt my worth as a person, as a woman and as a good person. Fuck you for the nights I spent crying, all the times I couldn’t handle a hug, the 40 pounds I gained, the depression that didn’t let me leave my bed.
Fuck you for saying you didn’t think it would affect me, like I was some dramatic girl who went a little too far one night. Fuck you for making me see just how fucked up this world is, how women are treated like sexual objects. Fuck you for the night my mom asked me why I couldn’t just get over it. Fuck you for making me wonder the same thing.
Fuck you for the friend who told me I was asking for it. Fuck you for the man who stopped talking to me because it was too much for him to process. Fuck you for making me make my dad cry when I told him. Fuck you for being a label on my skin I feel like everyone can see. Fuck you for making me afraid that even my own brother is capable of raping someone. Fuck you for making all men rapists in my mind.
Fuck you for making me so angry when I have so much I want to be happy about. Fuck you for feeling like you had the right to my body, to my being, to any part of me. Fuck you for talking to me in the morning like nothing happened and making me believe for a while that maybe nothing had happened.
Fuck you for making me scared to tell anyone I date. Fuck you for making me feel like damaged goods, like I’m not worthy. Fuck you for giving my wrinkles from crying so much.
I am a strong person and I didn’t need to be raped to become this person. You don’t get any credit for any part of me.
Fuck you for making me feel so vulnerable now, every day of my life since you raped me. I feel just how easily I can be raped, assaulted, taken advantage of. I feel so acutely just how much I can be hurt and I worry about it every day. You’ve taken sleep, peace, self-love from me. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of crying. I’m exhausted by this pain and this sadness and I’m tired of not being happy.
I’m tired of not getting out of bed. I’m tired of being scared of food because I don’t know if today I can control how much I eat. I’m tired of feeling. There are days I beg to be numbed; days I drink so I can be. I’m afraid to flirt because I might be asking for it. I’m afraid to smile because that might be an invitation. I’m afraid I’m too angry to the wrong people because all I can see is your potential in them.
Fuck you for even being a part of my mind.
I’m tired of you. Go fuck yourself.