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I remember once being able to make jokes and try to make others feel at ease... even when I had been through and was going through some pretty horrendous things.
I remember hope. I had hope that I would conquer the demons of all of the things that had been done to me. I had hope that the days of being marginalized and victimized were past me. I had hope that I finally had people in my life that cared for me and would not hurt me as so many before had done. Hope was stolen by people whom I thought would understand the tenuous grip that a survivor has on hope and trust.
I mentioned trust. To have all of my trust smashed alongside my hope was the hardest of all.
To share some of the acts that were perpetrated upon me is in many ways more intimate than what a lot of people share with a boyfriend or casual sex partner. I know many survivors who are unable to talk to their spouses about the details of their attacks/abuse.
When I garnered the courage to share some of my story, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. When the people that I shared it with shortly after trampled all over me, the hurt was far greater and shame evoking than the original attack.
The person who was able to find funny and jokes amongst the pain is gone now. Left in the wake is a person who only thinks of death. I think about how I want one person who has hurt me to truly understand how much they have.
I have really disturbing thoughts all of the time now. Things I would have never have thought before.