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This is the third and final part of my trilogy about my life-altering experiences. Part 1 talked about the most destructive relationship I've ever had, while Part 2 talked about the spectacular failure that most people call Nuclear Power School. They have been extremely verbose, but light-hearted, as I've poked fun at my own mistakes, my own youthful stupidity, and of course, the stupidity of others. People have generally enjoyed them, and I'm glad for that.

I can't say that will be the case here. Come to think of it, it surely won't be.

Just getting here, I have a pit in my stomach that goes up to my throat. On the one hand, I'm not quite sure I'm ready for this. But on the other hand... when will I be? Some of you can already guess what I'm talking about; I've told a few people. It will blindside the rest. But in order to rid myself of this weight - this very last step in that process - I have to talk about it. Really talk.

Anyone with a weak stomach, don't even bother. Seriously, just avoid the cut, get a hold of me later and I'll give you crib notes, because this one's GRAPHIC (even by my standards). And if you think this hurts you... imagine what it does to me.

I've lived in two separate apartments in this nine family apartment building over the years; the current one I live in now, and we have lived in since 1994, is apartment six. Before living here, and before the time when we lived with my mother's boyfriend, we lived in apartment four. Picture a box with nine small boxes; if you're looking at it, picture that as the front of a house. Now, each box represents a number, starting in the bottom left, counting across, and then back up to the left. It looks like this:

7 8 9
4 5 6
1 2 3

Now, you won't be confused by apartment number references.

When I first moved to this building on Argonne, in (I believe) September of 1991, I loved it; there were kids around all over the place, we could play sports, I could run around, and furthermore, I wasn't getting belittled by my mother's roommate, or beaten the shit out of by her kid, or dealing with the other assorted pitfalls of living in the basement of their house. Things got so bad at that house that I stayed with my Grandmother as my mother did the final moving. I missed a week of school, fell behind, everything. Moving to Argonne was like a miracle, and really my choice, as we had a choice of three places; I thought the first one (Ansonia, by Division Street) didn't offer enough space to play (by a busy street, serious angle to the yard, etc.), while the second one was a bigger place - second floor of a house - but too docile; no kids around, and we were over an 80something year old woman who liked absolute quiet. Argonne was JUUUUUUST right.

Eventually, I got to meet my neighbours, and found that they were mostly exceptionally cool. We bet Bonnie and her daughters Amy and Evvette (11 and 13 at the time, I think). We met Debbie and her young son Jonathan (turning seven at the time, if I remember right). We met Jim and Michelle, who had three kids, all of them relatively young. We met Delores and her two children, Shawn and Christine (some of you remember me talking about Christine; she's the one that brute-forced her way into my LJ and samplemember accounts). We met Jon and his wife/girlfriend at the time, who lived upstairs, in apartment 7.

Jon was a little bit unique, but seemed a great guy. He was notable for looking a lot like Che Guevara, with the hair and the beard, and for being possibly the biggest Cat Stevens freak I've ever met before or since. He was cool with me; he found some tennis balls to play with (we played baseball with tennis balls), and helped us set up a basketball hoop; a really cool guy. I knew he was having problems with his girlfriend at the time, but that was OK; afterall, my mother was having problems on and off with Bob, too. Must be a grownup thing.

However, during Christmas break that year, I got a strange phonecall at about 11AM. I asked if it was Jon, as it sounded like his voice. He said it was. And then he started saying things that, at 11 years old, I didn't really know anything about. "So do you want to get into it?" "... w-w-w-what? Get into what?" "C'mon, you know..." "No, I don't!" "Do you want to get into it?" "Y-y-y-y-you're acting strange, Jon..." "Take off your clothes..." "No!" "C'mon, you look good! Everyone should be naked..." I finally hung up the phone, and frantically called my mother at the diner in Ansonia she was working at at the time. I was so freaked - as was she - that she immediately called my grandmother and aunt, who came to pick me up; I spent the rest of that day at the diner.

When she challenged Jon about it, he very vociferously denied anything; he said he could never do anything like that, that he would find out who did it and hurt him, and hell, he didn't even have a phone! Bonnie confirmed that, but also remembered that some guy in the neighbourhood had a cordless phone. As for me, Jon was so convincing in his argument that it wasn't him that I even believed him, despite hearing his unmistakable voice. The matter was eventually dropped.

Then Winter Break came.

I was home, my mother was at work. It was Tuesday, though the exact date escapes me. I was playing Nintendo, and . I heard music above me; I felt it was a little bit loud for Jon's standards, but what the hell, not like I have anything to say about it. Then, I heard a knock on my door, and there's Jon. "Hey, can I come in for a bit?" I knew something was wrong, but I didn't dare say no, more because he was an adult than because I felt I was in danger, though I did feel that I was somehow in trouble. I wasn't necessarily naive, but I couldn't really draw any conclusions as to what was going on. He said that he just wanted to say hi... and that I was a really attractive young man... and that I looked good in my current outfit (nothing but a really long shirt and underwear), and he asked me if I had any crushes, and if any of them were boys... at this point, I was scared shitless. I told him that boys couldn't have crushes on boys, and he said that wasn't true, because he had a crush on me... he said it was OK for men to have crushes on boys, because it was normal in Rome, which was a great empire. He reached for my arm, and I recoiled; he firmed his grip, and asked if I liked him at all, as a friend or anything. I said he was a friend, and he said that it was normal for grown-up friends to show affection... and then he kissed me on the cheek.

I knew I was in trouble. I knew I would do well to scream and get help. But it was just me and him; I was afraid he could kill me. Thinking back, he had a strange look in his eyes; it was almost... crazed, but at the same time, there was really no anger. It's like he really had a "crush" on me, and this was his way of showing it... thinking back, Jon was almost like one of those NAMBLA freaks. But I didn't know that back then; I didn't know what NAMBLA was, didn't know that boys could like other boys, I just knew that what he was doing to me was wrong. And I didn't know how to stop it, because I also knew that I was small, he was big, and I was supposed to listen to my elders... and again, he was big (built like me, but shorter), and could really hurt me.

He then asked me if I had ever seen anyone naked. Other than my mother and other family members, I hadn't. He said that a naked body was a beautiful thing, and should be admired. He then took off the only thing he was wearing... his robe. I looked away, and he just said that I would look just like he did when I grew up. I finally looked at him, and at this point, I couldn't think straight; I wasn't very street-smart, and things just kept getting worse... he pointed to his penis and said if I knew what it was; I said it was his "thing". The motherfucker was trying to seduce an 11 year old boy that still called it a "thing"! He said it was a "penis", and asked me if I ever played with mine. I didn't even know what he meant! I didn't know what this fucking guy meant! He said he wanted me to take off my clothes, so we could be on the same level, and be grownups. He said grownups were naked together all the time, to shower and to do other stuff. He kept saying stuff about being "grown-up" even though in my heart of hearts that it was wrong... but I ended up taking off my clothes, more out of fear than anything. He said I looked very good, even though I was practically cowering in the corner at this point, more embarrassed at being naked than anything else.

At this point... I'm sorry... I remember every detail about that day. EVERY FUCKING DETAIL. The smell is filling my nostrils as I type this, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I remember the hair scratching me... I remember him reminding me that this was how adults really showed friendship... I remember the pain so well I can FEEL it... I remember... oh god, I remember thinking he was urinating inside me... and then, I remember him telling me that we would be friends forever, and that he loved me, and he knew I liked it because I had an erection, I didn't even know what an erection really was at that time... and that I couldn't tell anyone, because if they took him away, they'd have to take me away too, and I wouldn't see my mother for a long time, I didn't even konw why, I just knew that I didn't want to go away from my mother... so I said I wouldn't tell anyone.

He left at that point, and went upstairs. I still heard that fucking Cat Stevens album upstairs (to this very day, I can't listen to Cat Stevens, and it's cruel irony that the album playing was Tea for the Tillerman, who's first track is "Where Do The Children Play?"), and in my mind, I knew that I couldn't tell anyone what happened... which meant I needed to clean up. I remember I wasn't in pain, and bleeding, but I got into the shower, cleaned up, and tried to go back to playing Nintendo. My mother knew something was wrong, but I wouldn't tell her; I think she almost brought me into counselling, because I was really out of it for awhile after that.

Eventually, Jon got thrown out for non-payment of his rent; he didn't talk to me much after that day, so I barely knew he was gone until I noticed that there was no more music playing upstairs. Even when he left, I could feel as if he was there. He destroyed my innocence, and any feeling of safety I had. I was secretly scared to be home alone after that for awhile, thinking that something like that could happen again. But even worse, I learned things from other people... things from friends, other male role models in my life, things that made me feel worse. I essentially learned that if a guy liked another guy, he was gay, and therefore a "faggot", and a "faggot" was essentially the same as being weak, and being girly. My friends during prepubescence, those guys in the neighbourhood, they all would constantly talk about it; faggot this, this guy's a faggot that... there was such a negative connotation to it, and in the back of my head, I kept thinking of what Jon did to me, and that I allowed it to happen.

"Does that make me gay? Does that make me a... faggot?"

I didn't know what to make of it. I just knew that I was taken advantage of... and that it was MY fault. This coincided with me moving in with Mom's boyfriend for a year plus. This was a disaster; he was a manipulative, abusive prick, and constantly belittled us. I wish he'd have just beat the shit out of me; he'd have done less damage. Furthermore, everyone in that area was a "gangsta". It really was pathetic, looking back; at this point, Gangsta Rap was coming into it's own, and everyone wanted to be like Dr. Dre. Of course, none of these gangstas could fight fair, so therefore, I got my ass beat a lot. Never one on one, but three, four, five on one was OK. I was a loner, so this happened more often than not. I was beaten by gangs, pissed on, spit on, you name it. I was literally beaten so badly that I couldn't even hide it from my mother, and she pressed charges... which earned me another beating. No one could fight me one on one, but that's not what made the rounds at school, of course, with their little ringleader, Kevin Butler (who I'm hoping is dead by now; if not, I could easily finish the job, he's white trash). Between Bob, Kevin and his little bitches, and fears that I was gay/fag/weak... I got pissed. I started taking it out on people around me, and really developed a swing first-ask later mentality that got me into a lot of trouble in school and at home. My mother really didn't understand what was going on, just that I was in trouble, and she knew the house was one of the reasons, so I ended up moving back to Argonne Terrace with her, thankfully in Apartment 6 this time (I don't think I'd have handled sleeping in that room again after the time away). This wasn't before I instinctually brought up my hands to defend myself one day against my mother... and got my ass kicked so badly that I could have easily got killed. I got put through a wall, thrown into glasswear, choked out on my bed, you name it; you just didn't bring up your hands to your parent, period. Respect your elders. Couldn't say that "respecting your elders" was one of the reasons we were in that situation, of course; even though I figured out that they weren't going to "take me away", I knew that admitting to something like that was akin to admitting that I was a "faggot".

I came back to Argonne, but really, by that point, I was a shell of my former self; everyone noticed I was angrier. This all boiled over during an innocent childhood game in the backyard; one of the kids involved was Randy, who was eight or nine at the time; I think I was 13, I forget. He kept touching me, being a kid, and I kept saying shit like "are you a faggot or something?", shit like that. He - surprise! - didn't know what a faggot was, or any of this other stuff, so he asked his mother, a bull dyke, ex-Army woman named Holly. Holly's girlfriend called my mother, who just looked at me going "What did you say to Randy?" I didn't even really know, until I figured it out... just before Holly came upstairs, swinging at me. My mother held her back, but that was just the start. That night, she had a cop come to the door, and explain very plainly what I did wrong... by cuffing me, putting me in the car, everything. I know what she was trying to do; scare me straight. I didn't go to the station, but it was enough... to really fuck me up. At this point, I had no confidence left in anything. I didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, I really didn't even want to live at that point. I was seriously entertaining suicide thoughts at that time, and the only thing that kept me from going through with them simple lack of fortitude; life seriously couldn't get worse for me.

Then the next day came. I got home from school, my mother got home, and gave me yet another ass kicking, calling me a "rapist", a "pervert", everything in the book; she wore herself out so much, she literally had a seizure (she's epileptic). I was grounded to my house indefinitely; don't even know how long it lasted, but somehow, I got better. The whole rest of that year is a blur, really.

As I grew up, I learned to block the rape out of my head. Even then, I still questioned myself every step of the way. I still couldn't escape that I "let" it happen. I couldn't escape the stigma of being a male rape victim, and the loss of manhood that comes with it. As I heard more things counteracting what I'd learned at a young age, I got a little better at it, but like a true schizophrenic, I basically had two people in my head, arguing over my manhood. "But there was nothing I could do!" "You could have screamed, you didn't WANT to!" "But I didn't know what was going on!" "I'll bet you really secretly liked it, you faggot..." "I was eleven years old! I was scared!" A real man doesn't get scared! You fucking faggot!!! I don't know how I did it, but I managed to lock it out of my mind most of the time; these feelings would only come back to me at times of too much inactivity, when there was nothing else going on. Still, despite them, I had a relatively normal life with women when I was a teenager.

Fast forward to the Navy. Peer pressure is a bitch, and for reasons I cannot explain, men tend to equate their manhood with how many women they fuck. And if you don't fuck a lot of women... well, shit, you're either a square, or - all together now! - a faggot. Well, I was tired of being a faggot. And I had status now - being a sailor - and I went on what can only be called a promiscuous rage. I fucked anything with two legs and a pussy that didn't run fast enough, essentially. And to tell the truth, even though I learned to enjoy sex, and in a twist of cruel, ironic fate, have taken the approach with nakedness (well, of naked women, anyway) that that piece of shit took, the I think a large part of myself was SO afraid of secretly being gay, and secretly being a "faggot" that I had to prove it to myself with my libido that I was straight, and that I was a man; I was essentially fucking the fag out of my system, in my own head. It would explain why I took up a job as a male escort, surely (and quit it the moment some dude tried something on me)

That brings me to a night in February in 2005. It's a Saturday night, and I'm coaching at Trumbull High. We have a game that night at home, and SOMETHING brought up the subject of Jon. I got very defencive about something, and my mother - sensing trouble - started asking me what was wrong. My mother is not one to take "nothing" as an acceptable answer, so she finally asked me straight up "did he rape you?". I couldn't answer... she just grabbed me and held me, and I cried... oh, I cried. I'm crying NOW, thinking about it... I forget the conversation we had that night; she assured me it wasn't my fault, that I wasn't a bad person, that I wasn't a "faggot", and that Jon was the piece of shit. She got emotional, too; she had her hunches something was very wrong, and even said "That would explain the Randy incident...". She eventually got me feeling well enough to the point where I showed up to Shelton, and did my job like nothing had happened.

And then I got my vindication.

She mistakenly brought it up to Ed what Jon did. Ed (my uncle), after freaking the fuck out, mentioned the best words I think either of us have ever heard:

"You know Jon died in '99, right?"

Jon Secere died in 1999. Homeless, and broke, and according to Ed, who had seen him on Division Street a few weeks prior to him passing, insane. That was something my mother reminded me of; he died in 1999 a broken man, and here I was, at almost 25 years old, a military veteran, going to school to be a computer tech, doing what I went in to do, and coaching high school girls. It could have broken me, but it didn't, she told me; I was made of strong stuff. I wonder how accurate she is; she can't appreciate how close I was to breaking. And even today, I sort-of wish I knew where he was buried, so I could piss on his grave.

... It took me 13 years to admit to my own mother that I was raped. As I did that, and found out about Jon, a large weight was lifted off of my back. I got slightly more comfortable in at least my own feelings on the issue to the point where I told some very close friends about it. And then I decided something: I was eventually going to be strong enough to be able to help other people that were in my situation. I can't stress how much damage this did to me as a kid, and I KNOW that I'm not the only person. I felt that I could help people that were in the same situation... once I got comfortable enough to talk about it. That's a major reason why I'm writing about it now, though it's not the only one.

I needed to get everything out. I needed to talk about EVERYTHING. I don't talk about it with my girlfriend because she gets more emotional than me... but it's not possible to be more emotional than I was writing this. It took a week, due only partly to how long my week has been, and the support I'm doing for other people in regards to their computers/sites. I'm... tired of crying. I'm tired of being scared. In the time that I wrote this, I lost count of the times that I started crying. I literally vomited twice. I don't ever want to do that again. And I also want to be the person that someone can go to for help; don't think for one moment that this incident wasn't one of my main reasons for aiming at a Psyche major. I could have used someone like me when I was 11...

As I finish this entry, I'm drained. I've got nothing left; my hands shake to the point where I am constantly making typos. I have a migrane from crying. Even now, I'm tempted to close the window, and forget I ever typed any of this. I'm still tempted to run; I forced myself through this. But one of the things that's helped me is the fact that... if you look at me now, I'm 27 in May. I make - all said - $60K USD a year, and do so much with my life that I am wanting for free time. More importantly, I affect lives with what I do; I read back at testimonials about me from FESS's younger members, and the way I - a stranger in Connecticut - affect their lives. Nightmare said I was basically his "internet father", and MasterX, Hurricane, Arf, everyone else around that age and experience, they all say the same thing. I've always wished I could leave an effect on people that would last beyond my life; I don't know if I'm to that point, but I'm not far.

... It does make me wonder if my mother was right when she said I was "made of strong stuff". She might have been more right than I thought initially...

And most of the people that can read this are a large reason for that. Some of you, I do not have an interpersonal relationship with for whatever reason; lack of time, lack of common interests, afraid of men that aren't drawn on paper, etc. But anyone that can still read this entry is trusted enough by me to be let into my personal life. I'm a private person, and in various ways, you all mean the world to me.

I love my friends, and would do anything for them. Thanks for being there, guys...


( 38 comments — Leave a comment )
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Mar. 10th, 2007 06:04 am (UTC)
I think it's a big step toward healing completely, and a wonderful thing for that reason, that you could finally talk about this.

Being there is one of the things friends are for. If they don't do that, what kind of friends are they? No need to thank people for the least they can do. ♥
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:50 am (UTC)
Thanks, hon. Your support is as invaluable now as it always has been...
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:13 am (UTC)
Oh wow, I can only imagine how extremely traumatizing that was for you. However, through all of the pain and heartache you went through, and the fact that he took away your adolescence, you've managed to come out on top. You're an amazing person, and a great guy. I'm glad that animal died the way he did; in fact, the way he died may even be a little soft. But still, I'm happy of the person you are. :3
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:51 am (UTC)
To me, the only thing that matters is that he's gone. And frankly, it's a good thing; my mother herself said she'd have broken his neck. I don't want to see her go to jail over a 16 year old incident.

Thanks, kiddo.
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:14 am (UTC)

Goddamn, Bus. No one deserves that kind of pain. I'm glad the fucker's dead.
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:55 am (UTC)
Thanks for the hug, hon.
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:22 am (UTC)
You are seriously one of the strongest people I have met, even if we've never met in person. You know, I've looked up to you since we randomly started bullshitting like, what, last year? I think this post just proves that your mother was absolutely correct in her judgement of your character.

Thanks, Chris, for letting us into your life a little bit more.
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:56 am (UTC)
You look up to ME? Coming from you, that's high praise. Very high. In a way, I admire you, and the work you do to work in that shithole job AND go to school. I definitely feel your pain.
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:45 am (UTC)
Heh, the only reason I didn't cry through that was because I already did a few months ago when I heard it the first time...

And making a whole.. detailed post, even if it can only be viewed by a few people, takes a whole lot. (I'm a wuss. I can't even talk about the SCF of 2004. XD)

Whatever doesn't kill you....
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:58 am (UTC)
You cried? I'm sorry, hon... I didn't want to do that to you.

Honestly, I'd have maybe made these posts on SBNet, if it wasn't for the mention of my girlfriend (she's forbidden from dating me), but with as hard as this post was... I'm glad I didn't.
Mar. 10th, 2007 07:03 am (UTC)
Wow. I would have never imagined.

I greatly admire your Mother. As well as you, for enduring that.

It's taking every ounce of willpower of mine not to cry reading this. But I did want to read the whole story.

It does show how different people react to different traumas.

I'm sorry if my comment doesn't make a lot of sense, but I've never been good with words.

I'm glad to be your friend.
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:58 am (UTC)
... I'm glad to be your's, too... it's been an honour to watch you grow up. You're like a sister to me.
Mar. 10th, 2007 07:04 am (UTC)
....oh, Chris.

I don't know what to say. I really don't.

But I'm glad you feel you can trust me with this.
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:59 am (UTC)
Well, if I remember right, I did trust you with it way back when you came out of the closet.

But... your friendship means a lot to me. I seriously mean that.
(no subject) - hezul - Mar. 11th, 2007 04:06 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - superbus - Mar. 11th, 2007 04:08 am (UTC) - Expand
Mar. 10th, 2007 07:19 am (UTC)
It will blindside the rest.

Yeah. I'm certainly blind sided. I'm a man of many words, someone who always finds something to say. I can say I'm speechless and in most cases, will continue to rant anyway. This will likely be another case, of that. (I'm speechless, but I'm never truly speechless like others) Still, I never would have expected something like this.

You're a strong guy, no one can ever deny that. I was 15 turning 16 when I met you. I turn 19 next week. You know, 3 years, that's a long time at my age, and it's even longer on the internet. You've been a definate role model for me.

I was never as bad as Hurri, MasterX, Arf or Gabriel, but there's a lot I wouldn't be today that I am. One year and one day ago you promoted me to moderator on FESS. Not too much time later, you had me made an administrator to replace the spot that was emptying due to your retirement. I was no leader a year ago. Now, I define myself as an admin on FESS, and I've done it well enough to win over the memberbase.

You're a tough guy, and you've had a huge impact on others because of that. You fought through all that shit to be a positive role model for others. No one deserves to go through that. No one. I'm glad the fucker is dead, that's something I would think unbearable, to have to live thinking he was alive. You came out on top and you've taught others to do the same.

I'm going to cut myself off there. I think I've said enough.
Mar. 10th, 2007 05:42 pm (UTC)
Are you refering to me when you say Gabriel, BTW?
(no subject) - superbus - Mar. 10th, 2007 06:01 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - zephyrshakuraus - Mar. 10th, 2007 08:43 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - superbus - Mar. 11th, 2007 04:02 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - zephyrshakuraus - Mar. 11th, 2007 04:05 am (UTC) - Expand
Mar. 10th, 2007 08:08 am (UTC)
I'm honestly at a loss for words.

Getting this all out must have been a real task; I admire that you went through with it.
Mar. 10th, 2007 02:51 pm (UTC)
It actually means a lot to me that you would be willing to divulge such a thing and consider me enough of a friend to see it.

You are a strong guy, Chris. I can't say I empathize, and I don't think you give a shit about someone's sympathy, but that you dealt with it is something a lot of people wouldn't have been able to do.
Mar. 11th, 2007 04:03 am (UTC)
Well, it's not sympathy that I want; I typically loathe it. But I still appreciate your sentiment nonetheless.
Mar. 10th, 2007 04:16 pm (UTC)
Now, honestly, I wish I could say this actually did blindsight me, but considering the things I've seen and heard over the years it wasn't the case. Don't know if that says something about me or not, but it is discomforting in a completely different way, let me tell you... Sigh...

(There's not really anything I can say beyond that, but I get paranoid when I go off on a rant about something important to me and then no one comments.)
Mar. 11th, 2007 03:02 am (UTC)
... What the hell is that supposed to mean?
(no subject) - dmajohnson - Mar. 11th, 2007 05:19 pm (UTC) - Expand
Mar. 10th, 2007 05:04 pm (UTC)
You have my support, Chris; from ages ago the first time you told me about it, to present day, for as long as you need and want it, you have it.
Mar. 11th, 2007 04:03 am (UTC)
You've always meant so much to me... thank you for everything.
Mar. 10th, 2007 05:40 pm (UTC)
...Holy shit, Bus. I just... I'm lost at words. Just... Holy SHIT.
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:09 pm (UTC)
I will admit that this is unexpected, but it does explain a number of things. Suffice to say that what did not kill you made you strong. I applaud that you are able to stand up to your personal demons and force them into obedience; after everything that you have already experienced, I doubt that anything will be truly difficult for you ever again.
Mar. 10th, 2007 06:46 pm (UTC)
I... don't know what to say. I just don't. You hear about it, you watch it on the news, but you NEVER think it'll happen, or have happened, to you or one of your friends.

I feel sick to my stomach and it's not even ME who had to endure it. I can't even begin to imagine how it must have felt to go through that. To hide it for all those years.

I am grateful you trust me enough to share this with me, all things considered. Thank you.
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( 38 comments — Leave a comment )


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