PTSD,
I have so much to say to you, but generally it can all be encompassed in four words: I am so sorry.
I'm sorry that you're deeply rooted in my mind and unable to calm yourself. I'm sorry that you urge my anxiety to kick up when you remember the day we found out, the pain we felt, the awful nightmares that seem to continue to occur multiple times a week. I'm sorry that I downplay you. I'm sorry I get embarrassed when people ask about you. I'm sorry, I say I'm OK when you're not -- we're not. I'm sorry that you don't want us to trust people anymore, especially men. I'm sorry that maybe I could have prevented you if I had just been more observant, not been so trusting, so gullible.
I'm sorry that we wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe because of the times he pops up in our dreams. I'm sorry I still don't have the guts to confront him. I'm sorry that every time we're walking outside late at night you feel like he's going to jump out at us; you fear that this could be the moment he acts on all of the things he talked about -- you fear that he'll take our clothes off to add to his sick collection, along with taking another piece of who we are along with it.
I'm sorry that I always want to see the best in people. I'm sorry that I believed he could live with just being my friend and nothing more. I'm sorry that because of him anytime I'm in the presence of a man I can't help but wonder if they are as sick and twisted as he is. I'm sorry that I allow us to feel at fault when we were the victims. I'm sorry I gave him direct access to our room, our trust and our feelings. I'm sorry I ever even considered giving this guy a chance. I'm sorry that I didn't realize long ago what he was doing.
I'm sorry that people have had the audacity to blame us by questioning the clothing we wore around him, questioning if we ever flirted with him, questioned the amount of time we spent with him -- as if any of that justifies what he did. I'm sorry that rape culture allows us to feel that we are to blame, rather than telling him that thinking that we have the right to treat another human being like an object destroys people. I'm sorry that you may forever be around, unable to go away, unable to say goodbye once and for all, to what happened.
I'm sorry that sometimes other people think that what we've been through isn't bad. I'm sorry that sometimes I allow us to say that what we've been through wasn't that bad. I'm sorry that even the moments we should be embracing to the fullest extent tend to be burdened by your fears. I'm sorry that whenever a guy touches us we can't help but go back to the revolting thoughts he had about touching us. I'm sorry that when one of our old jokes with him comes up we are consumed with anger, fear and feelings that we are going to be sick; a need to get away from where we are, to be alone -- even though sometimes alone is the worst place we can be. I'm sorry that I carry you with me on my back like a demon clinging to an innocent soul. I'm sorry that I've allowed your presence to heighten the anxiety, to bring back the depression, to stop our breathing and to bring harmful thoughts to mind.
More than any of that, I'm sorry that his damaging acts have caused us to feel, at times, that maybe the world would be better off without us; that maybe we're just too broken to continue on; that the pain is too bad to continue on.
Lastly, I'm sorry that I ever made you feel that you were the one in the wrong, when you wouldn't even exist if this self-obsessed person didn't take advantage of the woman I used to be.
