Some thoughts and feelings

I wrote down what I was feeling yesterday, as I was feeling quite you know, low-key.

I thought it might be good to share it with the world.

Be warned, it can come across as self-pitying and depressing, but that's what I get like when I'm writing for myself...

No one really knows how I feel.
That's something I feel I have to remind myself every day as I force a smile, a laugh.
I told them, and yet, I don't feel any different.
I thought admitting it happened would make things so much easier to bare.
That all my depression would go away.
It's just made me more ashamed, more embarrassed that I let it happen.
It's my fault.
I know it's my fault.
If I'd understood and stood up for myself, I wouldn't have been in the same situation as I am know.
I don't understand why people have to take it so far out of proportion.
It's not like I would know any different.
It's not like pitying me is going to change anything.
I hate talking about this kind of thing in school.
Everyone laughs at the topic.
Child Molestation.
They should have stood up for themselves.
They can't sympathise.
They haven't suffered the same as I have.
They don't know what it's like.
They can't even begin to comprehend what it feels like then and in the present.
It has it's effects.
Subtle differences in a persons character that aren't there for other people.
They just don't understand how I feel.
I don't understand how I feel.
I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel.
I don't know how I'm supposed to act.
I want to tell people.
Speak up for myself, and those that have suffered similarly.
But the words get stuck in my throat.
Sometimes I feel caged and the people outside are just starting in at me.
Laughing behind my back.
I'm constantly paranoid about what people are saying about me behind my back.
Reading is a form of escapism for me.
A chance to live a life I never have before.
But it doesn't last long.
I know that one day, I'll have to face what happened.
But currently, I don't feel nearly ready enough.

So, yeah, these kind of thoughts come more and more often. I don't want to see anybody about it. It only proves that it happened. I don't want to admit that. Ignorance is bliss, right?