Stronger Than Yesterday — Quite Literally

“I AM strong,” I say out loud to myself.

Four full times.

After hearing my Mentor’s comment that I AM.

Strong.

He’s right.

I know he’s right.

His opinion doesn’t make it much easier to deal with, however.

Strength.

“What even is that?”

“How can anyone say that about me?”

“How can I be seen as strong?”

“How can I LOVE that?”

“How can I LIVE that?!”

Too many thoughts too fast.

Breathe, Boss Bitch.

So many unfelt feelings.

So.

Many.

Unfelt.

Feelings.

And then clarity.

Help.

Lifelines.

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.

Women.

Strong Women.

Strong Women teaching me Radical Acceptance.

Workbooks.

Homework.

I’m accountable now.

They need me because I need them.

It’s a mutual agreement.

I try to correct my values.

I know I cannot NOT do this.

My next Partner won’t be any port in a storm.

I won’t use someone.

I won’t cheat on my partners.

I’ll use emotional and physical protection.

I won’t be ashamed.

I WILL love ME.

Them/They/Their.

Gender identity identified.

Not accepting rape for an answer.

Not allowing someone familiar to touch me just because I’ve had it happen to me before and survived.

Can you “keep going”?

No.

You should have NEVER kept going.

No more exchanging my body for conversation.

As in…

No more needing to connect with someone — anyone — so badly — that I convince myself that my body has been used and abused SO MANY TIMES that I don’t care that it’s my ticket in — the price of admission.

And I’m no longer more than willing to pay for the affection I get in return.

No more.

No.

More.

I will confront my trauma.

I will radically accept my trauma.

My trauma is part of me. It cannot be “cured.”

Education.

I’m educating myself.

I’m trying to explain so others understand.

I will confront my PTSD.

I will radically accept my PTSD.

My PTSD is part of me. It cannot be “cured.”

But I can AND will LIVE with my trauma and my PTSD.

I don’t play a victim.

I have been gaslighted.

I have been told that I’m insane for thinking I’ve been gaslighted.

Ironic: don’t you think?

Don’t you think?!

I AM a victim.

You, and your addiction to anal pornography, and your need to act on your addiction, made me your victim.

You try to lie it and bury it and ignore it away.

But.

I AM the victim.

YOU made me one.

I AM a survivor.

I made me one.

My first rapist didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

The man I worked for who sexually assaulted me didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

Surviving all the rape you put me through didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

You don’t control me anymore.

I don’t have to obey you or suffer the consequences anymore.

I don’t have to listen to you tell me I’m making this shit up anymore.

How does it feel to know I don’t hate you?

How does it feel to know I don’t care about you?

How does it feel to know I don’t want you back?

How does it feel to know I know I’m not “CRAZY.”

How will it feel to know that I know my writing makes you cry?

How does she feel about that?

I bet it feels bad.

Bad.

Yet.

Your bad is not 1% as bad as what you put me through.

But there’s some light that outshines your gas.

I’m stronger than yesterday.

And I am SO much stronger than you.

I get it now.

I understand how my Mentor tells me I am seen as STRONG.

Now, it’s nothing but MY way.

🎶 And I’mma still be humble when I scream “FUCK YOU”
‘Cause I’m stronger than I was🎶 — Eminem

Because I’m stronger than I was.