I’m not sure if I can make it this time.

When you sit there in the middle of your livingroom, on a mattress; you have couches but what’s the point. Your empty. The only thing coming from you are tears. Tears of self pity and fear. And the saddest part, is you don’t even know who or what your scared of. You have no memory. All you have are little glimpses. Minuscule moments in time that, even if added all together, could never tell you even just a fraction of the story. You feel like, maybe if you knew what happened to you, you might not feel so fucked up. You might not be so scared to go outside. Maybe you wouldn’t think that the moment that you step outside that door, that whatever monster that took advantage of you, will snatch you from the side and you might not make it out alive this time. I’m not sure if that’s true. If I knew what happened, would I still lay there in the night afraid to fall asleep, afraid that someone will bust through my window or front door and attack me? Would I still be afraid to take a shower, thinking at my most vulnerable moment; that’s when they’ll strike? I don’t think that would change. I think I would still feel disgusted to look at myself in the mirror. I’d still feel embarrassed that I let this happen to myself. I would still feel gross to see myself naked. I’m tainted. I’ve been violated. I feel worthless. Every sound in the night scares me. Every sound has me imagining one thing, that somehow that man found me and is in my house, back to finish the job. I’ve been through a lot of tragedy over the last few years. But that was different. The creator was in control. I don’t know if I’m going to make it this time.