Perhaps it is not the particulars of the assault itself that we have in common, but the moment after; the first time you are left alone. Something slipping out of you. Where did I go. What was taken. It is terror swallowed inside silence. An unclipping from the world where up was up and down was down. This moment is not pain, not hysteria, not crying. It is your insides turning to cold stones. It is utter confusion paired with knowing. Gone is the luxury of growing up slowly. So begins the brutal awakening. I lowered
3/25 Would it have been better if I had been able to know right after? Or would I have pretended nothing was wrong? Would I have scrambled to invent a story so I wouldn't have to live this one?
