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I don't know why I'm writing a blog post. I'm writing a blog post because of multiple things.
1. I feel like hurting myself, and I do not want to do that again.
Most days, I can forget it happened. My brain puts those memories somewhere they feel small, insignificant.
But sometimes I feel like I'm cracking. Like a dam with a crumbling foundation, and I'm holding the water back, but there are cracks in this dam, there are cracks and I will, eventually, one day, break.
It's June now. Only three more months until I'm out of this house. It's- unreal.
He hasn't touched me in the last two months. It's a huge relief - but him not doing anything makes me feel like maybe he never did, maybe I was hallucinating, or dreaming- but I remember. I remember waking up in terror, I remember his hands on me when he hugged me. I remember it. Just because he doesn't do it now, doesn't mean it never happened.
But it would be easier, if I was the insane one. If it was ju
I am letting out a few things because I'm feeling tired and sick and am crying in my bedroom
1. You stole something from me that you had no right to take. You have stolen my little brother from me. You replaced him with a monster hiding under my bed, and when I look at you, you still wear his face. You will not take anything else from me. You will not take the progress I made struggling with my mental health for five years. You make me feel like I have to hide my body, like I have to cover