Sometimes is hard to don't remember…

There are countless ways someone can hurt you. At the time it happens, you may not notice, but eventually that sour feeling in your chest starts to make sense.
You wonder what happened, why you always do the wrong things when the right things are just as easy as doing the wrong ones. And then you realize it hurts to breathe. It costs you everything you have, even when you have nothing. It takes the nothing, it takes over the emptiness that lives inside you, 'till there's no ropes you can hold on to.
When you realize what happened, all that matter is what you did wrong. Maybe because the society has the power to make you think that mistakes are unforgivable. And that kinda crushes you, sweeps your broken parts to a place of guilty, darkness and pain. 'Cause there's nothing you can do, no ropes left, no hands calling yours. Only fingers pointing at you like you were the one who did something wrong. And the worst part of it all is that it's all on your mind. But it still feels like everyone looks at you and can see what's inside.
Sometimes you wish they'd really see it, so you don't have to say the words you are so terrified to say out loud. I WAS RAPED. I WAS SEXUALLY ASSAULTED. Seems like it'd be written on your forehead.
Even if you eventually get better, it doesn't leave you. You can even hang out and say to yourself that everything is fine, that you are over it. Deep inside, however, it still hurts. 'Cause it changed you, it's a part of you.
You can tell everybody, but you can count on your hand how many will trully believe your pain. Just a few will try to understand.
Even your friends think it's a silly thing and tell you to get over it. Then you decide to not talk about it anymore, because you're being irrational. You're sensitive. You're weak.
You can tell your psychologist and your psychiatrist what they wanna hear so they cannot extend the subject for too long. In fact, you just wanna forget. So you try to show them you're over it, and part of you wants SO DESPERATELY believe it.
But you're just too broken and you can't repair yourself while keeping everything together is so fucking hard.
You may laugh, smile, be happy… good. This means the meds are really working.
You say to yourself it was just an experience. You say that to your psychologist. To your psychiatrist, even to your friend. But it sounds so fake that you want to laugh.
You think you're weird, sometimes perverted or crazy when in fact you're just too traumatized to rationalize what comes up to your mind. You fear you'd ever become like him, 'cause you can still feel his presence, his touch, his smell. And you throw up. Countless times. 'Cause is hard to remember. It's painful. It's true.