I feel like I constantly have my own mortality staring me in the face.
Aside from my minor car accident that left Nebby’s front bumper deformed, I just feel like I’m about to do something stupid and crash into a wall and die.
And then I’m watching TV shows and reading lots of book and again and again, man’s wickedness and human fragility are a constant reminder of the world we live in and of the victimisation of innocent, helpless souls and the fact that nothing can be done about it.
It’s depressing. The world is a dangerous place and driving around in a tin can isn’t the worst of it. We are. Us humans. The pain we have wrought upon each other; physical, emotional, psychological.
I don’t want to believe that I can be broken – or rather, I don’t want to believe that me being a casualty of someone elses cruelness can break me. I was happy to blame myself for the way that I am. That way, the world is still a good place. People don’t do bad. Feeling unloved isn’t a result of malice aimed towards me, you know, it’s just his nature. That sort of thing.
Nothing was ever done to purposefully hurt me. It was never intentional. People aren’t that evil. But actually they are.
I was sexually assaulted but I never saw it as such. I wasn’t raped therefore I had no right to see myself as a victim. I was only almost raped. I was only pinned down to the bed while he tried to get a condom out. But it wasn’t fully rape, so I’m ok.
But I’m not ok. I don’t want to be touched. I wish I wasn’t so marred by the experience.