This is you now because this is what everyone keeps telling you you are. And it's your fault.

PTSD feels like a black hole. One that you try your best to climb out from only to feel yourself sink back into. You open your eyes everyday and want to turn off the sun. The mirrors in your house become enemies, showing you how tired and worthless you feel. Your skin crawls and feels heavy every time you go outside. Every time someone brushes up against you, every social interaction feels disgusting. It feels like you've just dunked yourself into the filthiest, most repugnant dumpster you've ever had the misfortune to smell in your life, you run a mile with the slime against your skin, you sleep in it for two weeks, and then try to just go on with your daily life without the ability to wash it off. Because you can't. Because this is you now - repulsive trash. This is you now because this is what everyone keeps telling you you are. And it's your fault. And you had better just stop crying about it. That's what PTSD felt like to me. I had gone through a year and a half of therapy to repair the trauma of a sexual assault against me by a teacher when I was seven, only to be raped by a friend in a state of vulnerability in the middle of my healing. I wanted to be angry for a long time. At my parents, at my friends, at anyone who told me they were "so sorry". It all seemed very hopeless. I tried to file a report with the police but they scoffed at my inability to speak in full sentences about my experiences. I tried to tell my family but they were so ashamed of themselves they couldn't bear to keep on about the subject. I tried to tell my friends but they were at a loss for words apart from their apologies. I just wanted to find him. I wanted to find this teacher and tell him what a piece of shit he was. I wanted to find him and tell the world what a monster he was. But I couldn't find him and no one could help me find him. One friend actually told me he could find him. I was drunk and crying, spilling my guts. Next thing I know, I'm passed out waking up periodically, trying to put my clothes back on only to have him take them off again. This time I wasn't going to let this go. While I was still too fragile to go to the police again (what with the way they reacted the first time), I decided to find help sooner another way. I told my friends. I found support. And when I was ready I found him and I told him everything I wanted to tell my first attacker. I told him that I wished scum like him didn't walk the earth. That if there were fewer people like him everyone could sleep easier. That no one knows what he is but I did and I felt sorry for the people he was fooling because they wouldn't realize what he was until it's too late. That I know in my heart he will die alone and with no one to genuinely love him because he has a rancid soul. And as I walked away, I could breath a sigh of relief. It wasn't jail time, it wasn't a formal punishment, but it was enough for me for the time being. Yes, it was so hard for people to understand. I felt alone for a long time. After years of recounting the tale no one wanted to listen any more. Everyone just wanted me to be okay. At this point in my life I don't hold these things against those people. I wish still some days that I had gotten formal justice for the crimes that were committed against me. I support causes such as this one and blog about my recovery in an attempt to dole out consolation and advice. Because for me, while my struggle was long and the healing arduous, I have come to accept that the things (though many) that have occurred in my life do not define who I am. I don't stand by the label of "survivor" because to be a survivor at one point you must have been a victim. I also don't care to victimize myself. Yes, these things that have happened to me were horrible. But the events are no longer occurring, and to fully progress and move forward I can't sit here and beg justice from a world that can never provide it. I find justice now solely in my own recovery, happiness, and peace. I win everyday that I continue to move on with my life, what I want, without revolving around what has happened. I'm not a victim, a survivor, or a hero. I was raped twice in my life and I've come to terms with that fact. I know that our flawed laws, judicial systems, and society need help in achieving ways to prevent these things from happening. But until then, I'm happy knowing that what's happened is now behind me and that I can be of some comfort to those who need it as they're healing. There are always going to be bad people in the world. The best thing you can do is find the good ones and support each other.