It was just a thought.

I think that it isn't very normal for happiness to worry people. I think that it's just me. For the past few months, my life has been mediocre, and I've been completely happy with that. Only now, since I find myself often elated, do I worry. I'm used to disasters. I'm used to depression. I'm used to decency. It's pure, unadulterated happiness that leaves me truly dumbfounded. I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to feel about being this happy. Part of me wants to just bask in it while it lasts but the cautious part of me won't let myself do that. Part of me just will not let me forget who I really am and what my life is really like. Almost as a foreboding, my dreams lately have been haunted with the ghosts that pervaded my life years past. Nightmares of the rapes and of my dad visit me in my sleep every night. Just reminding me of what my life really looks like. Telling me that this happiness is but a temporary state of being and that, as always, my world will fall apart at the end of it all. Alanna tried to reassure me the other day by suggesting that maybe it was just about time for my life to start getting good and actually stay good. I pretended to agree with her but deep down, though not so deep at all, I know that things in my life aren't supposed to stay good for very long. If I haven't learned anything else from my life thus far, I have learned that things for me are supposed to be difficult and things for me are supposed to be painful. I always get through it. Whatever it may be at the time. But it's always painfully difficult and difficultly painful. My mom says I'm cynical, but really, I think I'm just realistic. At this point in time I'm very happy but I know, that in just a brief moment, I will find myself standing at the base of yet another enormous mountain I am forced to climb, my happiness and feelings of elation left miles behind.

Looking through my Facebook and MySpace friends, I can name 4 that should be in jail for either raping me or sexually assaulting me. Four. It makes me wonder how many other people I'm "friends" with should be in jail for doing that to other girls. Other people don't know about what these guys have done to me. I get so pissed off when I see people talking to them and commenting on things they say. It makes me so angry that these guys are getting away with what they have done to me. And, not only are they getting away with it, but they remain to be well-liked people. I know that it's my fault that they're getting away with it. I should have told someone about what was happening. I didn't and now they're going on living consequence-free lives. All because of me. I wish I would have told someone. I wish these guys would have to pay for what they've done to me. Maybe if other people knew, they wouldn't be so quick to judge me. I think I am a good person. I try to be. I know that in many areas, I'm far from good. But, I really do strive to be a good person. The mistakes I have made, I try to learn from and use them to better myself. I wish people would see that. I wish people could look beyond the surface and start to see me for who I really am and not a superficial, slutty bitch. I just wish people knew. It's my own fault that they don't.

My soft voice cried out in earnest to the dark, empty room. Tears flooded my eyes and spilled over, soaking my cheeks. My cries were met with shouts of silence. I rolled over in my bed and faced the wall though I saw nothing. Blackness was all around me, drowning me in nothingness. Water poured out of my eyes as I squeezed them shut. "God," I whispered. "Please don't let me get hurt again. My heart has been beaten, broken, bashed up and bruised. I've done my best to patch it back up but it's hanging on by a thread. I'm afraid that one more thing will just unravel it completely. Please, God. Don't let me get hurt again." God kept quiet as I buried my face in my pillow, muffling the loud sobs I couldn't control. At age 10, I didn't think that I could handle another painful experience. Already in my life, I had experienced pain that most 5th graders couldn't even dream up. Loneliness had become my inseparable companion. Depression had it's foothold on me and pain was a feeling I felt every second. Questions raced through my mind every day, searching for answers and only finding more questions. Guilt loomed over me, watching me, taunting me. Reminding me of things I just wanted to forget. The idea of living 80 more years was one I couldn't even think of. I think, deep down, I never expected to get far in life. Some people were meant to die young and something in me told me that I was one of those people. My left arm screamed in pain. I ran my right index finger down my arm and felt rows and rows of raised welts covering my inner and outer arm. I promised God that would be the last night I ever destroyed my body. I never in a million years would have imagined that that was just the beginning.