MY FAILED DEATH.

MY FAILED LIFE

I'm not even sure where to start with this. Forgiveness. It's a word that's been thrown around a lot since the tragedy. "Forgive and forget." "Forgiveness is key to healing." But what does forgiveness even mean?

For me, forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting what happened. It doesn't mean excusing or justifying the perpetrator's actions. It doesn't mean reconciling or reconnecting with the person who hurt me.

Forgiveness, for me, means releasing the hold that the assault has had on my life. It means letting go of the anger, the resentment, and the hatred. It means choosing to focus on my own healing, rather than dwelling in the past.

I'm not saying it's easy. I'm not saying I'm there yet. But I'm trying. I'm trying to forgive, not for the perpetrator's sake, but for mine.

I deserve to be free from the weight of this experience. I deserve to live a life that is not defined by the assault. I deserve to forgive and to move forward.

It's a journey, and it's not going to be easy. But I'm ready. I'm ready to take back control of my life, to heal, and to forgive.

It starts with me...

I'm still healing from my past trauma, the trauma of being abused by a family member who's supposed to protect me. I guess we should always leave room for disappointment.

This trauma is shattering me, leaving me with unseen scars, shame, and flashbacks. The world doesn't feel like a safe place anymore. I no longer trust anyone. I can't even trust myself. I question my self-worth and my sanity.

I always blame myself for what happened, only if I hadn't opened the door that day! I feel like I'm trash. His voice resonates in my head every time I hear a similar voice.

I thought after that day nothing like that would happen but I was wrong. It was his schedule routine but now his son was a part of it. He would listen to his father like a radio. He would follow every single instruction his father instructed him to do ... I guess as they all say "like father like son."

I'm not sure where to start or how to put into words the emotions I'm feeling. It's been a few years since the abuse and every day is still a struggle.

Some days are better than others. Some days I feel like I can finally breathe again, like the weight on my chest is slowly lifting. Other days, the memories come flooding back, and I'm transported to that night, reliving the fear and the pain.

I've been seeing a therapist, and it's been helping. Slowly, I'm starting to unravel the emotions and thoughts that have been tangled up inside me. I'm learning to acknowledge my feelings, to validate my experiences, and to practice self-care.

It's funny... people keep telling me to "stay strong" or to "get over it." But they don't understand. They don't understand that healing from that type of abuse isn't something you can just "get over." It's a journey, a long and winding road that's full of twists and turns. I have to learn a lot about myself and my past.

I'm trying to be patient with myself, to remember that healing is a process. It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to break down and cry. It's okay to need help.But it's hurt cause I never learned that .

I'm not the same person I was before the " unfortunate tragedy. I'm different now, changed in ways that I'm still discovering. But that's okay. I'm learning to love myself, to love my body, and to love my spirit, things I never imagined I would.

I'll get through this. Although sometimes I slide back to that dark place a place of repetition and a place of self-harm.

My thoughts are still stack there...

I'm sitting here, surrounded by the quiet place I should call home, and yet my mind is screaming. It's been years since the abuse stopped, but the memories still linger. They still haunt me.

Flashbacks. That's what they're called. Moments when the past comes flooding back, and I'm transported to a time and place I'd rather forget.

It started when I was innocent and naive. I don't remember the exact date or time, but I remember the feeling. The feeling of being trapped, of being powerless, of being completely and utterly vulnerable.

It went on for years. Years of being manipulated, coerced, and forced into doing things I didn't want to do. Years of being told I was worthless, that I was nothing without it happening..

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. He was gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces.But the memories lingered. They still linger. And sometimes, out of nowhere, I'll be hit with a flashback.

It's like I'm right back there, reliving the trauma all over again. I'll see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch. And I'll be transported back to that time and place, reliving the fear, the anxiety, and the pain.

It's exhausting. It's debilitating. And it's frustrating. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to shake these memories. I can't seem to move on.

But I'm trying. I'm trying to be patient with myself, to remember that healing is a process. I'm trying to focus on the present, rather than getting caught up in the past.

And I'm trying to remind myself that I'm not alone. That there are others out there who have gone through similar experiences, and who have come out the other side.

I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could erase the memories, the pain, and the fear. I wish I could make it so that it never happened.

I wish I had never been in the house that day.

It's a simple wish, but it's one that I'll never be able to fulfill. What's done is done, and all I can do is try to move forward.

But some days, like today, it feels like too much to bear. The weight of the memories, the pain of the experience, it all feels like it's crushing me.

I just wish it had never happened. I wish I had never had to experience that kind of pain and fear. I wish I had never had to feel so powerless and helpless.

I just wish it didn't hurt so much. I wish I could just forget, just move on with my life. But I know that's not possible. Not yet, at least.

So I'll just keep moving forward, one step at a time. I'll keep pushing through the pain, the fear, and the anxiety. And I'll keep reminding myself that I am strong, I am resilient, and I am capable of overcoming anything.

I'm still processing everything that's happened since the (...). The pain, the fear, the anxiety - it's all still so raw. But what's almost as painful is the way my culture has responded.

From the moment it happened, I knew that I would face blame and shame. And I was right. People have been whispering behind my back, saying that I was somehow responsible for what happened. That I was too flirtatious, too friendly, too trusting.

They say that I should have been more careful, that I should have known better than to trust someone like him. They say that I'm lucky it wasn't worse, that I should just be grateful it's over.

But the truth is, it's not over. The thought, the pain, the fear - it's all still here. And it's not my fault. I didn't ask for this. I didn't deserve this.

I'm trying to remind myself of that every day. I'm trying to surround myself with people who support me, who believe me, who don't blame me. And I'm trying to be kind to myself, to remind myself that I'm not alone.

But it's hard. It's hard to shake off the feeling that I'm somehow to blame. It's hard to ignore the whispers, the stares, the judgment.The thought of it happening again.

I just wish that my culture could understand. I wish they could see that sometimes is never the victim's fault. I wish they could support me, rather than blaming me.

I have been trying to understand why people blame me for being assaulted. Why do they think it's my fault?Is it because of what I was wearing? Because I was home alone that day?

I've been racking my brain, trying to think of what I could have done differently. But the truth is, there's nothing I could have done to deserve this.

Theft of someone's innocence is never the victim's fault. It's a crime, a violation of a person's bodily autonomy and consent. And yet, people still blame us.

I think it's because of a deeper cultural issue. We live in a society that perpetuates victim-blaming, that tells us that we're responsible for our own safety, that we're responsible for not being comfortable around certain people, feelings, touch, and looks.But that's not true. We're not responsible for the actions of others. We're not responsible for being abused all because of nature.

I'm trying to remind myself of this every day. I'm trying to surround myself with people who support me, who believe me, who won't blame me.

And I'm trying to be kind to myself, to remind myself that I'm not alone. That there are others out there who have gone through similar experiences, and who have come out the other side.

"We realize the importance of our voices only when we are silenced "