HE DIDNT KNOW

HE DIDN’T KNOWWhen my abuser took me at my young age of 8 he didn’t know that I would survive. He didn’t think that for one moment it would serve as part of my story. That the raping of my body was attached to my very naïve, adolescent mind and it would scar me for such a long time that drugs and shame and self-hatred would play such a part. He didn’t think for once that I would have to lay myself bare, in fetus position and detox him in my late 20’s. I had to re-live it so that I would be able to move on in my life. My abuser didn’t know that in my search for self he would be the first one I had to find in order to ask back for my freedom, to ask for my power back because when he FUCKED me he took all that away. In between his threats on my life to his shame for his act to his deep rooted self hatred that he freely, abusively left deep within me, I am no longer his effect or bearer of what he cant embrace which is himself. 

The journey still continues because it was so ingrained in my being from the men I chose to love to the friends I kept at my side to just the way I saw myself at different parts of my life. It showed itself in acceptance, in worth, in happiness, in relationships. It was cancerous of the worst kind because it created a defected self that tried to find itself through one drug at a time, one painful day at a time. 

My abuser didn’t think I would rise above and find a joy in me. A drive that keeps me looking forward to another day.

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