This isn't the first letter I've written to you. I've written to you in the dead of night, paragraphs upon paragraphs that you'd open in the morning. Guess who never got those cute messages, oh yeah, it was me. I had a beautiful picture be drawn to celebrate our first one month. Somehow you seemed to fuck up before you even saw it. I have written note after note about how you hurt me, and you did it again, except this time I was finished. I don't long for your touch anymore because what once felt like fire, now feels like ice. Your words that once were music now sound like thunder, and you know I don't like storms. I'm a storm and maybe that's why I've learned to hate myself. When I told my mom what you did, she said she wasn't surprised. My family hated me as I made the mistakes again and again. I now see them as mistakes, not chances. Remember when I texted you, about that magician. It had made me think of you. Sometimes I wonder if I hadn't of been watching America's Got Talent if this wouldn't have happened. He won just like you. You got control of me even now, and he won $1,000,000. Sometimes I miss you but not the real you. The you that was a mask, a facade. The you I fell in love with. I stayed for that you. I thought I could have changed you for the better. Instead, you twisted my words and my truths. You changed me so much that I don't feel at home in my own body. I feel like an intruder in my house, except I cannot leave.
You want to change your middle name because it means nothing to you. You and your dad don't get along, but he cried when you asked him to pay for your electrician school. I could write page after page of your biography. You wouldn't bother to read it, and you’d soon find the words rapist, manipulator, abusive, filling your simple life. If only. If only I could tell people what actually happened. Except when I'm in a room with you I freeze. I can't speak. You used to leave me speechless, but now I'm paralyzed, afraid. You play a game I can't keep up with. I feel like a pawn that was taken out too late. Writing your name makes me sick, the way it sounds so powerful.
Power. You took my power, my innocence, and used it against me. I have no power anymore. I have emptiness when my heart once was. You made it difficult to love, difficult to carry on. The life I live is driven by fear and regret. I shouldn't be scared of telling people what happened to me. However, this country dismisses victims. Instead, they tell us this will ruin our tormentor’s life. Your ego and reputation are more important than my PTSD. You over me, that's right, right? That's how the world works. You are more important than me. You always have been because when I was a little girl I got the talk, about how to know if something is sexual assault or not. When to say no, and what consent was. Y’all can say not all men but you did. You made me scared of touch. Scared to feel. You ruined my life with your touch, your voice, and your mind. You ruined me and I hope you rot in hell for it.
Sincerely,
Me
And the other survivors
You want to change your middle name because it means nothing to you. You and your dad don't get along, but he cried when you asked him to pay for your electrician school. I could write page after page of your biography. You wouldn't bother to read it, and you’d soon find the words rapist, manipulator, abusive, filling your simple life. If only. If only I could tell people what actually happened. Except when I'm in a room with you I freeze. I can't speak. You used to leave me speechless, but now I'm paralyzed, afraid. You play a game I can't keep up with. I feel like a pawn that was taken out too late. Writing your name makes me sick, the way it sounds so powerful.
Power. You took my power, my innocence, and used it against me. I have no power anymore. I have emptiness when my heart once was. You made it difficult to love, difficult to carry on. The life I live is driven by fear and regret. I shouldn't be scared of telling people what happened to me. However, this country dismisses victims. Instead, they tell us this will ruin our tormentor’s life. Your ego and reputation are more important than my PTSD. You over me, that's right, right? That's how the world works. You are more important than me. You always have been because when I was a little girl I got the talk, about how to know if something is sexual assault or not. When to say no, and what consent was. Y’all can say not all men but you did. You made me scared of touch. Scared to feel. You ruined my life with your touch, your voice, and your mind. You ruined me and I hope you rot in hell for it.
Sincerely,
Me
And the other survivors
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