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I've got a feeling my worst brings out the best in you.
10.05.2004 | 1:25 pm I think a lot more girls are raped than we realize. Some won't admit it. Some won't accept it. Some revel in the attention it gets them. But it happens. And sometimes it isn't always in the sense of forcing sex upon someone, although that's the common perception of it. It can be anything. It can be that feeling of someone undressing you with their eyes. Or holding you a little too tight when you ask them to let you go. Or maybe it's an aftershock of rape. I really can't talk about this like I planned on doing. And it has nothing to do with ... anything. I just feel sick. And thank you Miranda for making yourself miserable for the rest of the day/week. You're a bitch. Despite the fact that I normally divulge every little tidbit of my life in here [it is a diary] there's still a lot that I don't. Not because I don't want other people to know, because I really don't mind that. I just don't like talking about certain things. Or remembering certain things. And I like it when James holds me down and won't let me move. I like it when he pulls me by my hair. I like it when he overpowers me. But sometimes, I don't. Sometimes it fucking sickens me. It makes me nauseous and I get that lump in my throat like I can't breath. And I have to admit something happened. Something happened and it affected me. I don't hate him for what he did, whatever that may have been. I hate him for fucking with my thoughts. For making me feel like nothing and completely disregarding the fact that I was a person. "Shhhh. Be quiet. I'll take care of you." |
