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It made me think long and hard about what I was put through. If I had the money and wanted to investigate this, would I come up with some answers? I couldn't help but feel my ex-friends were loyal to him for some reason, that there was something going on that I didn't know about. Made me feel paranoid that I was thinking there was some conspiracy or whatever. This is driving me crazy everyday. You know, it wouldn't matter if I had photographic/videographic evidence against him or if he confessed live on television. I'd still be treated horribly and accused of extortion or vengence. I still can't believe the ignorance and absolute denial of those people and the blame and condemnation of the rest. When someone has told me that they were raped/molested, I never doubted them and made insulting accusations against them. How the hell would I make any money out of it? If I were lying, the guilt would've overwhelmed me and I'd have confessed to that already. The dreamer in me hopes that those assholes have come to know the truth, that he exposed himself as the person I saw that xmas morning when he raped me. I keep hoping I'll see him on the news and I can proclaim that I was right. You know, it makes no difference and I'll never get any justice. I needed support then, so it doesn't matter now. I keep imagining one of the doubters/traitors coming to apologise to me and me feeling like it doesn't matter: it's too late. Like those who apologised for the victims in Salem Massechusets for the witch hunts that happend several hundred years ago; those people are dead and needed to be believed and validated back then. It doesn't matter now that the events have passed.
I'm not sexually active right now, so my mind is cluttered with these ugly incidents. When I am active, the matter is so distant. Sexual activity blots it out; inactivity rouses it up.
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