To fix what is broken.

I think I will not get over this no matter how many times I cry about it, write about it, talk about it or try to forget about it. We learned about Master Statuses in sociology class today. I don’t want this to be my master status, but so much time has gone past and still it dictates the way I live. It is hidden in the recesses of my mind, the thoughts of the few who know about it and the things I do.

I shall not bring it into the open for the world to gawk at; sympathy is not what I am looking for. Neither shall I expose this deed to defame the person at fault, because revenge isn’t quite what I am looking for either. What do I want then, I ask myself again and again. Do I want an apology? Do I want justification? Do I want a shoulder to cry on? Do I want to forget?

Yes, perhaps I aim to forget. To put all this behind me. But that is all in due time, and as I have tried again and again to erase it from my memory, it creeps up time and time again only to remind me that my past cannot be outrun. So forgetting is a plan but alas, I doubt it is possible at this time in point when I am still questioning why I was put through such a thing.

Closure? Yes, closure would be nice. Maybe if I could understand why, it would out my mind at ease. The questions that often crop up with closure: Why me? Why then? The stupid part about this is then a little voice in my head replies: Why not?

And to that, I can’t think of an answer. Why not? There is nothing to say that I am immune to pain, so why not me? It does not help my case and so closure maybe isn’t the right thing for me, not just yet.

I don’t think there is a specific way to go about this issue. I wish there was a handbook, but the situation isn’t simple math. I want to live without this weight slowing me down and halting me from exploring. I am tired, so tired, of the flashbacks and guilty jabs. I wish I could forget, but if that won’t happen, at least let me learn to live knowing that this disability doesn’t own me.

I wish my safe place didn’t feel so far away. And I wish I could purge the knowledge of what was done from my stream of consciousness.

If only it was easy to pretend that this had never happened.