• Fuck it.

    by  • June 25, 2011 • Frustration • 0 Comments

    Dear You,

    I went out for a walk after I saw you. A long one, a trail I’d never been on. I wasn’t scared.

    Yes, I was raped a year and a half ago and yes, I’ve been terrified ever since. I struggle sometimes to do things by myself- I rely a lot on you for a hand to hold. But guess what? I’m not fucking diseased. I’m still me, underneath all this shit. I can still function by myself and that includes making decisions for myself.

    I’m ready to have sex again. Whether you think this is too soon or not, I think you owe it to me to let me try. Stop wrapping me up in fucking bubble wrap because it’s suffocating and I feel like I’m trapped, like he’s won because he got you snatching away the rest of my independence.

    I want this. I want to try and you can hug me all you like while I sob if it goes wrong and if it doesn’t we’ll do it in every fucking room and show that arsehole that he never won. Show him that he will never have me because you still do, I’m still entirely in love with you and belong to no one.

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