Trust, confidence, body image. All were damaged or destroyed that day.

I owe you nothing. If I don’t trust you, don’t be offended, I rarely trust men these days. And even women, few knew my story before I finally decided to word-vomit it all here.

Telling a story like this requires a strength of will that you should never ask of one who’s view of the world has been colored by the trauma of an assault like this. Telling this story has taken me years. And I’m still leaving out so many details.

Because something like  this is intensely personal. It gets into your bones. This story has become a part of who I am. A part that I can’t share because it is inappropriate in most situations. Because I know what effect hearing others’ stories has on me, so I don’t want to force that on anybody else who is not ready for it.

I committed the physical reminders to the flames as a celebration of survival, and as I watched it all burn, I tried to let it all go. It’s a thing that clings to you though, leaves a permanent scar. I’m moving forward, and I can only do that by acknowledging my scars.

This isn’t your story, you don’t own it. This is my story, and I will tell it when and how I need to.