Being raped at the age of thirteen is not fun. Trust me.
I would know.
And being raped wasn't the worst part; it was the aftermath. When you walk into school, you feel all the eyes on you. Of course, they aren't, but your pants of breath get a little bit quicker. Your heart gets a little bit racier, and you walk a bit faster. Thoughts are running through your mind. Thoughts like, 'Can you tell that I've been raped?' 'It was my fault, I-I should've tried harder.'
It rips you apart. It tears you into pieces. Indescribable nightmares. It creeps its way into your life, your habits, your thoughts, until you are consumed by madness. Even when you start to feel safe, when you rest your head on your pillow, and shut your eyes, it will still be hovering over you, like a shadow. A ghost of reminder. Bliss is not an option for you.
And then, the rage comes. You become closed off to all your loved ones. You become angry, wondering why the hell it had to be you. And with rage, comes violence, and with violence comes pain. It becomes so painful that you can hardly bear to get up in the morning. PTSD. Social Anxiety. Bipolar-ism.
It's the most frightening thing you'll go through.
