when I was asked to talk
about my trauma,
I opened up again and
let the words spill out.
I didn't tell them how
badly it burns when
they come back up.
I talked about depression,
about feeling alone,
about attempting suicide.
I talked about deaths
and pain and everything
that I have witnessed.
and then I began to
talk about my assault,
and the men who still
haunt my dreams.
I started by saying,
"the first time I was *****..."
I paused there.
I realized I said
"the first time"
meaning there was
more than one time.
there was more than
one hospital visit,
more than one police report,
more than one court case
that went nowhere.
there is more than one
****** still walking free,
living his life and not caring
that he ended mine.
I said it so ******* casually,
the same way you'd make
small talk about the weather.
I said it like it was normal.
I suddenly felt nauseous.
I needed to spit out more
than just my words.
I spent the next hour
hunched over a toilet bowl.
I think that my body was
trying to ***** the memories
out of my system.
I said it like it was normal.
I said it like it was
an everyday occurrence,
like it's something
you hear about daily
and no one bats an eye.
I said it like it was normal.
I felt so sick, like
I had been poisoned.
I climbed into bed and
didn't get up for days.
I said it like it
was ******* normal,
and the worst part was
when I realized it is.