Sincerely, Sara

A collection of my ranting and ravings. Please don't take anything personally; it's not meant as a personal attack to anyone. In the moments, I needed to tell these people things that I couldn't so I wrote them down. Each situation has been dealt with, but I would like to publish what I wrote, because the words tend to flow nicer when I am passionate about it.
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WARNING: These stories contain mature content and discussion of such; examples including rape, sexual assault and abuse. Please don't feel like you have to read it, because you don't have to if you don't want to.

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4. To "The People Who Sit Beside Me":

****CONTAINS: SWEARING, MENTIONS OF ASSAULT, ABUSE****

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It's nice to know that you believe you haven't hurt me. It's nice that you attempt to have that naïve sense to your personality. It seems that all three of you have no idea how you hurt me, and that's great as it will stay off of your conscience. Because why should you be wracked with the guilt of your own actions when they didn't even bother you? I'm waiting for you to tell me that it was so my fault. It was my fault that you got offended from my comments, that it was my fault that you pushed me away. And I would believe you, because I believe it to be true. Which is dangerous for me. One left, which leaves me with two. The two that abandoned me when I was at my worst. The two I thought I could count on, a thoroughbred lie that I kept feeding myself.

 

I'm waiting for the third to come back; and with the next break, for her to ask me why I am ignoring her. What do I respond to that? Do I tell her that I'm still mad for her comments? How about the fact that she has been rude to me the entire time I had supposedly known her. And because I know you so well, then please: tell me why you are being so rude. You know what? Life sucks. Sure. Please don't tell me that yours is worse than mine because in all honesty, I couldn't care less about how your life compares to mine.

 

I bet you didn't know that I know you're comfortable with telling people about your story. I'm not ready to tell mine yet, so you won't know why I am ignoring you and why everytime you talk and I am forced to listen, I glare at you with daggers. Because I will never tell you my story, I'll write it down instead so I can tell you in the future when I'm ready. I've been verbally and emotionally abused for most of my life and I've never said anything to anyone because I thought it was normal. In the summer before grade 8, I had my first panic attack and in grade 9, I was sexually assaulted for the first time. It ended when I was in Grade 11, the sexual assault I mean. The panic and fear of the panic have still stayed. I've been groped and thrusted upon. In grade 10, I averaged about 50 spoken words per day. I was going through a depression episode that I had never felt before and I actually had considered taking my own life. For 57 days in a row - and I counted- I cried myself to sleep and every day I went to school my grades suffered. I overcompensated by joining every club imaginable to give the impression that I was able to keep myself from doing something horrible.

 

I bet you also didn't know that I was stuck in a friendship that I thought was great; little did I know that she was physically, emotionally and verbally abusive, but only to me. We were never "together", never an "item". We were friends. I lost count after the first two months how many times she called me a whore and a bitch. She told me that my rotting corpse should just go in the ground where it belonged, but she told me this because she was my friend, right?

 

You were supposed to be my friend so I guess you would know.

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