Writing has been a passion of mine most of my life. It’s always been a way to express myself even if I couldn’t express myself to other people. I could save my feelings so I could remember the tough times but learn and grow because of them. It’s come easily at times and other times I don’t even want to admit things to myself. I usually write when I’m overcome with emotion and I don’t know how else to deal with it. But a few nights ago I wrote my first thank you type of writing. It was a thank you to my best friend for always being there for me, for becoming my person, and for being the guy who when I got raped, even not being a fighter, he wanted to fight for me. When I was raped and thought I was pregnant, he offered to claim to be the father if I chose to keep the child. But he said he supported me if I didn’t want the child but he knew that no matter how much pain that guy caused me, there was no way I could get rid of the child, that’s just not a decision I could make with my past of a lot of family members losing children when they wanted them. I couldn’t just get rid of my child if I was going to have one. Thankfully, I wasn’t pregnant. It’s been almost a year since I was raped. March 14. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever dealt with but it’s also made me a stronger person. I’m a little more open about talking about the experience now. Mostly, because I was able to help a few people like me. I realized that I wanted to make a bad experience into a helping experience…to try to make it a little bit better. Although, helping people doesn’t make anything better, it makes me feel like he can’t control me anymore. He can’t consume my thoughts, he can’t haunt my dreams, he can’t hurt me anymore. I can make a post about my story if anyone is interested in hearing it. I can attempt to express the events that led to it and the events that followed it. To me, it’s harder to talk about those events than the actual rape. Maybe because those events have been clouded by every detail of my rape being etched into my memory. Like at any moment I can just see, feel, and hear anything as clear as it happened if I let myself concentrate on it long enough. And sometimes, I do. It makes me realize a lot of things about myself and a lot of things about the guy who was pathetic enough to rape me. I say pathetic because he felt the only way he could get sex from anyone was to rape them, and in my opinion, that’s pretty pathetic. Well, let me know if you want to know the story. I’ll share some of my writings at times if you would like to read them as well. Let me know.