My therapist told me once that if I had reacted differently I could’ve died. so I wonder why I didn’t resist more. because then maybe I would’ve died at a happier time in my life. sure, rape is not fun and didn’t make me happy and I don’t want to do it again… that’s not how I want to die but If I’d died… It would have been before I lost my faith, before I’d been pregnant, before I lost all my friends, before I became the person that I am now. because that was what made me what I am now. If I died during it, then I would never have known a life without sleep… I was just okay. I hate who I am now but I don’t know anybody differently. I don’t remember how to be anybody differently. I wish that my therapist hadn’t said that because now I feel like I’ve done everything wrong. If I had died, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I guess I would’ve died a nobody because at least I know who I am now. If I died before then, maybe I wouldn’t have known who I was. Because my life is defined by that moment. Before is inconsequential. After is everything that I am. Without the rape, I would have never been anybody. I would never have been defined. The rape makes me who I am, without it I am nothing. With it I am nothing. Because of it I am nothing. I am not my own. My rapist makes that very clear. That is the only constant. Therefore I am nothing. Nothing but a victim, and that is how I am allowed to defined myself. He sets my parameters for me, because I belong to him. He took ownership of me. I don’t know who I am. I’m nothing with the rape; I’m nothing without it. I think what I want is just to be somebody. Maybe that’s why I take my art; my work so seriously. Because I need something to define me. And I want to choose my definition. And I wanted to be something I like. Unfortunately I didn’t pick something I was good at, but maybe that will come

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