A Gorgeous Feeling

Six years. Countless conversations that almost happened, and more recently, tearing up in my car listening to Praying by Kesha. So many times I've wanted to tell my parents, even my brothers, that my first time being intimate was not by choice. I've told coworkers — funny how comfortable you are with those people — I've told boyfriends, more out explanation for my hysteria over getting physical than anything, and two close girlfriends. Hell, they have their own stories that haunt them and their own ways of coping.

Aren't we just so healthy, keeping this knot tied as tight as we can pull, deep in our stomach and lost in our soul? I say lost because for me, I feel that loss, even still. I feel the pressure to tell my family, to let them know me completely. I feel the loss of giving myself to someone who I chose for myself, not who came along first and was stronger than me. I feel the desire to let myself weep again, because six years doesn't erase the memory. The trauma sort of does though, to be honest, the details remain fuzzy. But I remember the pain, I remember the utter humiliation, the hopelessness, the confusion, and the loss. There's that word again. I don’t know if I can type a long enough letter for you to paint the picture better. It’s ugly anyway, all smeared and gray, dark and harsh. I still don’t have answers, why it happened, why I couldn't tell anyone, why I still take even a portion of blame. "I could've fought harder, I could've screamed."

Sex, love, intimacy, these shouldn't be a fucking fight. Screaming should not have been my reaction. I was shocked, and had a deer in the headlights reaction that I still hate. But I grew from seventeen, carrying a weapon with me at all times, hating men, hating myself even more, and feeling an anger that pushes through its boundaries every day. I believe it's that suppressed feeling. Putting on different masks and finding different voices to try and keep me angry and unforgiving. Broken. But still I know the truth. I know that what is done can’t be undone. I know that the smell of rain scientifically improves your mood. I know that laughing until you’re gasping for air, with tears rolling, happens often if you let the right people in. I know that anybody is a poet, when they fall head over heels in love. I know that family, blood or chosen, is a gift that warms my soul completely. I know that finding your passion and new interests, improves your day-to-day outlook on life. I know that you can grieve, even six years after someone killing a part of you, and feel release from it. That is a gorgeous feeling.