The Things People Don't Touch.

Talking About Sexual Assault

Now I express to you knowing it's hard to hear this. I know you are thinking who did this, but that is not the point. The point is I survived through a traumatic past. Now I could tell you all my labels. My race, my mental illness, and my popularity. Even though I have those label. I became a better person through all that fighting. Fighting through the pain was so worth it and I learned so many lessons along the way. I hear so many shocking stories, for a whole week, from people who own the kindest hearts yet don't recognize it. I've heard these stories from girls and guys in the hospital and you watch these teenagers shatter before your eyes.

You wonder,

Why must they shatter?

They are stronger than they look.

They try to pick up all these pieces, and it would hurt so much to watch the pain behind their eyes as a tear dropped down their cheek. If I could take all their pain and bear it in my heart I would. Even if the pain is too much. I'll keep walking across the river of pain no matter how deep I go. I would do it for them, but honestly, I can't because 80% of the work is telling someone else what happened. I'm telling you the truth. No one can read your mind. You have to learn to help yourself. Don't start helping other people thinking it will make you feel good forever. Why you might ask because helping someone else doesn't improve you. You're not benefiting from it. They merely say thank you and walk away.

Anxiety

I get very anxious around people, but most of the time people won't notice. I mess with my fingers and I keep to myself. I learned a long time ago people don't like it when you talk about things that will make them uncomfortable. They don't like when I tell them how I feel, so I sit in the corner thinking to myself. People ignore me most of the time and tell people that I'm perfectly fine. When in reality I'm slowly destroying myself in my mind. I pick at every little thing I do wrong. I get upset because I worry that people won't like me for me. So I sit in the corner on that dark black chair as the black ink covers my skin and consumes me. The darkness doesn't scare me anymore. It was horrifying as a kid. I used to try to keep up with people but figured out that people didn't like it when I was too cheery. I never found a middle ground like other people do. I pace in the darkness as I breathe in the black smoke as it dances through my fingers. It grips me in ways I can't explain. My body can only take so much. As the smoke becomes suffocating; I think of the things I would've done and where I should have gone, but I can't change anything so as I take my last breath. I close my eyes and as I lose feeling in my body. I look up and expressing my thanks, as I nod. As I open my eyes my friends are around me. Back to reality, I ask everyone if they're hungry. As I get up to walk away I turn around to say goodbye anxiety and thank you for your time.