February Fourth Two Thousand and Nine

I wrote this after watching a short documentary called Rape is... This is one of my personal steps to recovering my voice that I didn't even know I had lost. I am a writer, more than a speaker.

Hands shaking.
Was it/Is it the cup of coffee or was it/is it the movie?
Rape is...
Rape is...
Rape is...
ME.
Right?
It was rape?
I did not feel right when I woke up.
When he touched me the morning after it felt like shocks of electricity right to my soul.
Whatever part of my soul was left.

Sometimes I think I'm just being dramatic.
Dramatizing the memories in my head.
I silently consented at first {?} (But if felt wrong.)
But then it hurt.
I said ow!STOP!
Then...
I don't remember.
I was drunk.
It was not my fault.

But...Why do I feel like it is?!?!?
Why can't I talk to anyone?!?!?
Why am I afraid to talk to anyone?!?!?

I've been swallowing my tears for so long.
Oh that movie!
That movie.

Fuck!

I do not believe that I have low self esteem.
I don't want future relationships to be screwed up.
Yet
I have not talked about it at all.
I have bottled it up and thrown it in the ocean of my mind hoping that it will never be found.
Yet
taking a step back
discussing it in my mind

I DO HAVE LOW SELF ESTEEM.
I throw my body around. trash.
I don't care.
This ruins any relationship I have ever had interest in.

AND I CAN'T STOP!

But I want to stop.
But I don't know how.
I
don't
know
how.

Maybe...? NO!
I need help. i need help. i need help.
I need help.

I should let someone read this.