Frozen. Your body is stone cold, paralyzed by some combination of fear and confusion. With every second lasting an eternity, it’s like you’re trapped in your mind with no hope of rescue, and the only feeling you have is that of a firm hand ripping out your identity. There is no escape to this madness, this torturous memory. They don’t make pills that allow you to forget.
You never think that this could happen to you. You think you’ll fight back, you think you’ll firmly say no, you think that you’ll never be infatuated with someone who could do this to you. You would, of course, be wrong. You may do all of these things, or none of these things, and end with the same result.
A day filled with nothing but crying won’t help, letting the scalding hot water rush over your face doesn’t do a damn thing, and even talking to someone hardly makes it any easier. Repression works, for a while, at least, then the next thing you know it’s six months later and you’re breaking down every minute of down time you have.
Physical injuries can be healed with drugs and time. This, well, this takes more than just pills. This takes time, effort, talking, feeling, accepting, remembering, and some of the hardest things you will ever have to do. It’s not simple, it’s not straightforward, and it’s something very few others will ever understand. I’m not sure I fully understand it.
What I do know is this:
You’re not alone, it’s not your fault, and I love you.