Recovery

I am a survivor

Although this isn't a poem, it is very important with me. It's certainly something I feel the need to share with Wattpad. Although there isn't any graphic details, I deeply apologise if it is triggering to anyone.

If anyone ever needs to talk about what is said in this entry or about anything, all you have to do is PM me and I will reply as soon as I possibly can (I check Wattpad everyday).

Thank you to anyone who reads this. <3

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For a long time, I thought it was my fault. I thought nobody would believe me if I tried to tell them what happened. After all, why would he do something like that?

He had always been a man for the women. He was known as that guy around town, that guy who never had a girlfriend but got plenty nonetheless. He was my friend – someone who I could talk to about my problems. He was someone I turned to when things got rough, whether that was just someone to talk to or someone to get away from it all with for a few hours. He made me laugh. He was cute, he was funny, he was supportive.

At least, that’s what I thought.

He hurt me in ways that made him less than human, let alone a man. He hurt me in ways that I can’t even begin to say or describe.

He made me a statistic. He made me terrified of men, of leaving the house, of darkness, of being alone. He made me worse than I was before.

You see, I suffer from Bipolar.

Now I also suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He made me have sleepless nights. He made me terrified of my own bedroom. Because of him, I can’t be intimate and I can barely look at my own bed – let alone sleep in it.

It may have happened a year ago now but what he did to me will never leave me. I will never forget his face, the bruises, the pain. I will never forget a single detail.

To this day I’m still fighting this battle alone. I’m not better, yet – I am nowhere near better. I still feel sick when I think about what he did to me and I still have flashbacks every day. They used to be easy to turn off – I could think about something else and momentarily forget about what was in my head, what was in my memories. Lately I can’t turn it off. It’s getting worse. After a year I’m still suffering as if it was yesterday, and nobody knows a thing. None of my friends know, none of my family knows. Nobody knows what I’m forced to think about almost every minute of every day.

But I’m a survivor, and I hope that one day I have the courage to tell my family. Although I am not ready to tell my family, one day I will be.

One day I’ll tell them I’m a survivor of sexual assault, and one day the flashbacks and memories of it won’t haunt me as much as they do now.

To any victims of rape, sexual assault, sexual abuse or anything of the kind – you’re not alone. There are many of us out here and one day, it’ll get better.

We just have to have hope. <3