To the boys who raped me and called it fun

I was told to write you a letter, an angry letter in which I shifted the blame from myself to those really at fault: you.

But since that letter has language that should not be shared and is so full of anger, I’m posting this more hopeful, still angry, one instead. (Since I know you–at least one of you–read this blog.)

There’s ten years worth of anger and hurt and misplaced blame inside of me, simmering on the stove of my soul, and it takes just a little bit of anything to make the emotions hit a boil and overflow. And that’s not me. Nothing about the last ten years has been me: the neediness and the withdrawing, the saying hurtful things to friends and not saying enough, the oversharing and the emotional turmoil are not me. It’s the trauma tumor–the tumor you caused–controlling me. And it’s controlled me for so long.

But no more. No more.

I can’t do it any longer–can’t hoard these memories any longer, can’t hoard the hurt and the pain and the anger. I can’t pretend to be in control of things that were never in my control to begin with. These feelings, these emotions, these memories are not my fault.

None of this is my fault.

It’s yours. And I could go on and on and on about how angry I am at you, but I’ve already done that not more than five minutes ago. The truth is I am angry. So angry. And for so long I was angry at the only person I thought I could be angry at: me. I was angry at myself because being angry at yourself is easier than being angry at someone else. I was angry at myself because I blamed myself for things that weren’t my fault–aren’t my fault. They’re yours.

And I have to be ok with that. I have to be ok with that because I can’t control the past. I can’t control what happened. I can’t change the fact that you held me down in that bathroom despite my cries to stop. I can’t change the fact that I’ve spent 10 years blaming myself for something you did. I can’t change the fact that there’s so much hurt and pain in my life that I used to rather be dead than face it head on because you told me I’d be better off dead.

I have to be ok with what I can’t control, what I can’t change. But I don’t have to be ok with what you did–I’m not ok with it.

I’m angry and I’m hurting and I’m lost and I’m confused. But I’m also so much more than all of that.

I can’t do it any longer–I can’t hold on to any of the hurt and anger anymore. Because after those are gone, what’s left? Healing and peace. Healing and peace. That’s what I want.

And I know this journey is going to be long, and it means I’m going to face hard, painful emotions head on. And it’s not going to be fun.

But you lied to me: you said no one would ever love me. You said I’m not worth it.

But people do love me, and I have the best support system around me.

But I am alive, and I am worth it.

I’m worth it.

I’m so worth it.

And honestly, I’m sorry that the fun you thought we had caused me so much pain and heartache. Because that’s ten years of my life I’ll never get back. Ten years.

I’m angry and I’m hurting and I’m so desperately trying to figure out how to move forward.

But this I do know: I’m doing it. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.

And you can’t stop me any longer.

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