Friends

Trigger Warning: Sexual and emotional abuse.

I don't know that milk is supposed to be a thing you put on your altar --probably it's not a great choice, what with the fact that it spoils and stuff.

But it's eighteen years tonight and tomorrow, and I wasn't gonna _not_. I'll clean it up tomorrow. The room can live with milk in it for twelve hours.

I think I get ice cream tomorrow. I don't know what else my plans are, but I think ice cream is an absolutely pivotal part of it. Drink the thing that poisons those who would hurt you. Be stronger than they are. Have a thing that brings you joy that will keep them away, keep them from being able to touch you.

Eighteen years ago was the last time I was raped. I have now lived half my life in "after". Well. Tomorrow morning. Tonight and then. Approaching midnight means still at the Hoff theatre. I think the part where he tried to fuck me without any kind of protection was the Friday night, would've been last night. Now is the Saturday night, and the very last of all of it, the very last time we are still on good terms.

(I think it's the time I didn't get to kiss August, but maybe that was earlier in the fall. Because it is only okay to kiss women, because in addition to every other insecurity, doesn't actually believe in bisexuality or recognize it as a real threat. My queerness is an additional fuck you.)

Half my life since we broke up. Half my life since after.

I did it.

I made it to 36 without fucking up someone half my age. I made it to 36 with relationships that are good, with partners that love who _I_ am and not just what I can do for them. I made it to 36 and can have sex that is joyful and funny and weird and hot and kinky and consensual and consensual and consensual and consensual.

"And it isn't my fault that the barbarian raped me"

I made it to 36, and in less than twelve hours I'll be more than half my life since him. Not just without him --from first meeting to last was only ever five years, we've done that over and over-- but _since_ him. Half my life _since_ I was raped. Half my life _since_ I was abused.

Half my life since I tried to set myself on fire to keep someone else warm. I am already full of warmth, I will share that with joy. I don't need to burn to provide it.

I'm just going in circles with this, but I'm okay with that, because I've been going in circles for eighteen years. Cycles of healing and hurting, of getting better and suddenly worse. It's part of being human, not leaving things totally behind. And I wouldn't dream of trying to write of what my life was like in the before. Too much of it is here in after.

Almost the majority, in fact.

Happy Anniversary, kSatyr Wulfsohn. You lost and it is entirely your own fault. I hope you figure that out someday, and I hope that it chokes you into actually becoming a better person.

None worked the ways to break me you contrived.
Fuck you I'm not a victim: I survived.

~R.
MOOP!

On dreamwidth, trigger warnings go both ways. Sexual and emotional abuse allusions.