i have to show the world that what you three did to me only scratched my surface, only took off the shiny layer of myself that i had previously perfected for the eyes of society’s critical audience. but you didn’t. you’ve broken my soul and torn my heart and punctured my lungs and i’m finding it harder to live and breathe every single day. people think that the pain caused by an experience like this lives and dies in the moment that it happens, but those people are sincerely wrong. it's been three hundred and twenty-seven days since it happened, since each of you violated me and took advantage of me and abused my right to consent. but i bet you didn’t know that those days equate to seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight hours that it’s been on my mind and i bet you didn’t know that the nightmare is now burned into my skin and flowing through my blood and coded into my dna. the constant feeling that my body is no longer mine will not leave. the feeling that i’m missing a part of myself is going to stick with me. the feeling that my heart strings are severed, that my lungs have burst, that my legs can no longer carry the weight of my newly found burden and that my life has been tainted by your evil touch will never disperse. these feelings cannot be brushed under a rug, but i’ve got to appear like they can to the outside world. do you know what else hurts? what also hurts is that this trauma, the same trauma that is making me want to end my life, constantly hoping that the last of my heart strings will break so that my heart can plummet to the depths of my destroyed soul to lay with my sanity, is being used to mock me. as if my life could be forced into further submission without the teasing and bullying of my peers. thank you, to the three boys that took my innocence, turned my meaning of the word ‘no’ into ‘yes’ and made my body into a lighthouse as a guide for the devil. he’s found me. you’ve broke me. you win.