This post, this piece of writing is different because I am writing this now and publishing immediately, instead of editing and rewriting.
Because…well, I’m angry at myself for even hesitating a microsecond to speak up about my abuse in the name of hopefully helping others. And I just now did that. That hesitation happens sometimes, and I don’t always know why. Sometimes I’m emotionally tired, and I simply can’t. Sometimes I’m still embarrassed and ashamed…actually that’s frequently and I fucking hate that I feel that way!!! If I truly believed I did nothing wrong, and that none of it was my fault, then why the fuck am I still ashamed?!
I wonder if that’s what people see when they look at me-a victim, someone who wasn’t smart enough to get it together and get out. Or if they think I’m pathetic and fragile and mental because of it.
The truth is sometimes I AM fragile; more fragile than I used to be and too fragile for my tastes. I take extra care those times not to react, to put a wall between myself and everyone else so no one can get to me while I’m so vulnerable. And sometimes…yeah, I’ll say it, I’m mental. I go down into the abyss…I freak out when I shouldn’t…and my bad days are bad. Really bad sometimes.
Sometimes telling my story brings all that up. So sometimes I hesitate, out of self preservation.
and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole when I do…