The Blood Runs Down In Thin Strands

Øne: First Day

A/N:

⚠️WARNING⚠️

This story is graphic, there will be a LOT of discussions on rape, suicide, self harm, and drug addiction. Not recommended for sensitive readers.

This is unedited, so there will be some grammar errors. I will try my best to avoid those. Every comment that points out the unintentional errors will be deleted.

With that aside, don't forget to vote, comment, and follow me. Hope you have a good time reading 📚

August 10, 2015
Dear journal,

I am trapped in a horrible place that's somewhere between misery and numbness. I feel like I'm blindfolded, because I can't see the light. There's only darkness no matter where I look. I feel hopeless. Like life will never get better again. And I don't like being dramatic, and I know that other people have it worse, but that fact doesn't make me feel better, and it will not make it hurt any less than it does. With the events that have been happening lately, I think I am only one step away from insanity if I'm not there already. And since I have nobody to talk to, I'll be dumping my shit within your pages.

As a rape victim, I realize that a lot of people ask a lot of questions. Like, a lot. And they're always questions that I want to answer, but I know nobody will believe me. They'll exchange looks that say "is this girl fucking crazy?" Yes, I'm speaking from experience. I don't answer these questions anymore, because then people compare me to my dead grandmother.

But I swear to everything there is, I wasn't dreaming. It was true. I felt it, and it couldn't have been faked. The soreness in between my legs, my virginity blood on that fucker's stomach, the pillow that he shoved my face in to conceal my screams.

Sorry, is this too graphic for you? Too bad, suck it up. Because this is not my first nor last graphic diary entry. And I have nobody else to turn to. I guess maybe, I feel lonely, and scared. My guidance counselor offered me to write down my feelings, because that might help. When you experience something traumatic, it's not easy to talk about it, but it could be easy to write about it. The pathetic truth is, its not even that hard to talk about. Its hard to see the looks on people's faces once I do. Maybe if you were a person, then you'd say I'm crazy too. Or maybe you'd believe me, because you know that graphic things like these aren't very easy to make up.

I'm not a schizophrenic, but it seems like the easiest explanation since my grandmother had schizophrenia. The entire town knows that she died after running into a damn tree, thinking it was something she could go through. Sort of like a portal, a dimension between worlds. That old hag thought she was in Stranger Things.

What a pathetic fucking death.

Anyways, back to the questions.

As a rape victim, let me rate the questions that I'm always asked:

"Who did this to you?"
-2/10. Not a necessary question since the motherfucker is dead. People don't usually believe the answer I give them.

"When did it happen?"
-3/10. Why does it matter? What does it do?

"Were you a virgin?"
-1/10. Appalling question. Completely uncalled for.

"Are you okay?"
-2/10. Thanks for asking, but it's a stupid question.

"What were you wearing?"
-0/10. Once again, appalling, and unnecessary.