the need to feel seen | long blog

TW/ I don't know if this really needs a tw, but I talk about some harsh topics, nothing graphic. Depression/anxiety/emotional abuse/grooming. I just really need to feel seen.

It's the first day of September, and fresh flowers are resting in a vase on top of my desk. The red ones bought two weeks ago haven't died yet; they're doing well. 

Tomorrow is my first day back in school, and in honor of my one-year mark of whatever happened, I'm getting things off my chest. 

Sophomore year was one of the hardest school years of my life. I was loaded with lots of classes, doing a lot of activities, and honestly trying to survive. At the beginning of sophomore year, I got out of an abusive relationship with a man a lot older than me. He tried blaming it all on me and tried to lie that I was lying and not mentally well, and now, he's living life like nothing happened, thinking picking up religion will give him the forgiveness he'll never deserve. The thought of him still being around and living life, being happy, aggravates me. I want him to be sad, I want him to feel dread and regret every day knowing what he did was wrong, I wish every day was a burden to him. Every pedophile deserves to die. 

All these months, I've been trying to mentally process all these events and why everything happened. I look at the photos of myself at fourteen, my sunken eyes, pale skin, and the tight skin wrapped around my bones. My squinted eyes and awkward smile posed in photographs, silently asking, "How is this happening to me?" 

I really don't know how to talk about these things to people, and people who have heard don't know how to talk about it. 

I really don't blame them.

There are the unhelpful few who think situations like this one are as simple as 'point A to point B'. I dread being asked questions like "Why didn't you just tell people?", "Why did you let it happen to you?"

God, if I only knew. 

If it were really that simple, a lot of victims would come forth. There are only a few victims we know of and a vast crowd of victims who are still suffering, afraid of speaking up.

There are phases I've experienced after leaving. The first was freedom, denial, fear, anxiety, depression, and anger.

I'm currently facing depression and anger. I'm really trying to do okay. I promise whoever is reading this, I'm trying to find the light in my circumstances. I'm trying to find joy in the art and music that I make, I'm trying to find joy in waking up, I'm trying to find joy in the cup of coffee I drink in the morning. But let's be real, I cannot keep dealing with the sleepless nights, the short bursts of anger I let out more often, the really bad mood changes, etc. 

Really, the worst part of it all is the loneliness. 

I cannot feel seen or validated. 

One thing that really angers me is when I try to talk to my parents about it. It feels like reopening the wound, and it ends with me bleeding out. My mom gets awkward and always turns the story about how I could've done something differently to prevent it. I wasn't 'ladylike' enough, or it was something more that helped it happen. I tell her that she doesn't really understand, but she always says, "No, I don't think you get it." 

Sometimes I wish she were right so I could rightfully blame myself for everything and be angry with just myself instead of me and everyone else. 

My dad, however, tries to be good about it, but fails. When he found out, he flat-out said I was naive and wasn't thinking. Thanks, Dad. He tells me not to be ashamed, but when it comes to getting therapy or talking to someone about it, he's worried about how bad it looks, how bad it looks to me, my family, and himself. 

So I burden it on myself, and try to put pressure on the wound, hoping it doesn't burst out. 

I love my parents, I just don't know how to deal with this. 

And really, it's not just people doing me wrong, it's also me doing others wrong. I don't want to paint myself as a saint because I'm far from it. Apologies for my short-term ex-boyfriend. 

He was really kind, doing his best. I was his first girlfriend, and it seems like we'd be a grand couple since we were such great friends. Well, we got into a relationship and I couldn't last three months. 

I couldn't stomach it when he'd hug me, kiss me, or show any affection to me. It sounds so terrible, but I'd get this shiver and an unbearable feeling of disgust, like I couldn't shake the memories of all the unwanted touches I've experienced beforehand. I felt used, disgusted, and distant. I'd get anxiety before seeing him, and depression after seeing him, even though he was nothing but kind to me; it felt like a relapse. I broke up with him when I knew it was unfair to him to have this relationship with me. He understood, and we ended on good terms.

When I talked with him for the first time after the breakup, he asked me why I broke up with him, and I told him why. He said he could've helped me get through it, but I know he really couldn't. 

To try and wrap this up, whoever read all of this, thank you. It's taken weight off my chest. I'm going to try and enjoy this year as much as I can. Despite the anger and depression present in my soul, I'm going to rebel against the desire to submit to defeat. I want to help victims be strong and speak up. I am not going to let men like this win. I know all he wants me to do is to shrivel up and die. Guess what? Fuck you, I'm going to be myself, that's really what you hated, me. So here I am blogging about it, encouraging anyone facing something tough to get help wherever you can. I'm here if you need. We need to get through this together. 

You are loved by someone. I love you, Jesus loves you, the sun will rise again, and you can always have a fresh start. 

The flowers in the vase are purple. 

- izzy