![]() I want to die so my husband can find a normal wife who doesn’t throw things when she becomes irrationally angry. I want to die so my son never fully sees all my damage. I want to die to end the burden I’ve become. ![]() I want to die so I don’t have to remember it anymore. Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed to keep going. I was raped at 7 years old and I want to die. He was supposed to be napping while mommy sat in the bathroom thinking of self-harming. I hope that’s still true years from now after all the times he’s seen me crumble. I was raped at 7 years old and my anxiety gets the best of me. All my pills just numb the emotion but never eliminate the memory. But every day I feel like I’m failing and there’s no point in the end. This battle is mine and according to my therapist, I’m winning. ![]() Don’t speak or breathe the pain you feel because the ones around just can’t comprehend or handle it anymore. I wear a mask of happiness to hide my real emotion. I tell myself to keep pushing through and that I get better every day. I was raped at 7 years old and I want the pain to end. I hate being alone when everything’s a trigger. He lifted my nightgown and spoke “sweet” words. The memory plays in my head like a home video. I hear birds outside my window and my mind thinks of that TV room filled with his pet birds. I was raped at 7 years old and I can’t stand being alone. I’m lying there believing he deserves better than me and I wish I would die. He’s holding me begging me to keep breathing. I tell him not to call my dad after attempting suicide. The only one to see me struggle and hold my hand is the man who I angrily lash out at the most. I’ve been in therapy for years and on so many antipsychotics. ![]() I was raped at 7 years old and I can’t even admit it. She tried to convince me the trauma wasn’t real which only made me feel “crazier.” She sent us away every other weekend to a man who’s home became a house of horror. All I can think is my struggle to live wouldn’t be an issue if being a mom was just enough for her. I’m sitting in the living room listening to my mom rant about her struggles. I was raped at 7 years old and my mother let it happen. The things we were forced to do, the way we were forced to touch - it makes my skin burn at the mere thought. It happened years ago and you think the trauma would create a strong bond, but we don’t even talk. I stare across the table at my brother and wonder how we survived. Holidays are the worst because family gatherings hurt. I was raped at 7 years old and my brother watched. The nightmares feel so real that I can’t tell the difference between being awake or asleep. I stare at the bottles of pills lined up across the bread box thinking I take six pills twice a day - and I still can’t get any sleep. I can barely keep my head above water while the darkness of the water keeps pulling me under. My husband accidentally left the closet door open and now the flashbacks are hitting me like waves in a storm. and I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling while I struggle to breathe. I hate myself when I feel he isn’t enough to keep me going. Now I’m a mom and I look into my child’s loving face. You can contact the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-80. Editor’s Note: If you’ve experienced sexual abuse or assault, the following post could be potentially triggering.
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