"Don't tell anybody about this."
"If you just ignore it, it'll stop."
"There's nothing I can do to help you."
And so I did everything I was told. I shut up. I put on a brave face. I followed all the rules.
But that was the past and it's not who I am anymore.
I will be loud. I will be angry. I will tell the truth.
Look what you've done. You gave me a story to tell.
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Unfortunately, a true story.
DISCLAIMER: This is my side of the story and, with the exception of a few voicemails/text messages/statements from friends, it all comes straight from my memory. As is the case with most PTSD brains, my memory isn't very good so I can't 100% confirm the accuracy of anything, but it is written almost exactly as I remember it. If anyone reading this happens to know something I don't, feel free to let me know.
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Thank you for reading.
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Dedicated to Sketch, and Toto, and Dr. Worm, and Mia, and anyone else (real or imaginary) that I loved, but they hated.
The average human being spends every second of his day fighting against the force
of nature to see another day. But I'm different. I'm not afraid of outside
forces to take my life away - only myself. Approximately 10 years ago,
something happened to me. Something really bad. But I'm not allowed to talk
about it. As a way to release my frustration, I give hell to my body and
everyone I come in contact with - especially my parents. No one knows about what
happened except the ones who did it...and Him. But he didn't stay. Now, he's back
and he's not talking either. I want to stop hurting, I need to stop. Make me
stop.