If every surface you touch is cold.

Last night, I went to Take Back The Night. It's an event that's been going on for well over a century all over (read more here), and Chapman put on one this past evening. The students that put it on read stories, poems, statistics, etc. about sexual assault, then there was a "call to action" by one of the adult organizers, then another speaker, and then people got up and discussed their own experiences if they wanted to. I really enjoyed the second speaker particularly.

A few girls got up and spoke about their own experiences, including a girl who I very recently became friends with who was super strong about speaking and another whom I only knew through mutual friends who had her own extremely sad, horrible story to tell that had a lot to do with the injustices victims face from not only their attackers, but from law enforcement and the "justice" system. At some point, I decided it was a good idea if I got up and spoke. No idea why, actually. I mean, I had thought I might but I was also pretty sure I would get too afraid. But I did, somehow, and I started out with:

"This summer marks the six anniversary."

The entire time, my voice (which, if you've ever heard me, is actually extremely loud, giddy, and has a lot of ups and downs in pitch) was very monotone and I couldn't get much expression on my face or...well, to be honest, I probably would've broken down. I told a part of my story and even then, I had an extremely hard time getting through it without screaming. I said I don't sleep. I mentioned that I didn't eat. If only I could find pictures of then; I was a size 0/1 and 5'6"...to put that into perspective, I am now a size 10. But I also told the audience that there are people who will listen, that that is the most important thing: to talk, if you need to. Internalizing only works for so long. I definitely still do to a certain extent, but not nearly as much as I used to. It constrains my throat when I try, I get sick, I get exhausted...it takes too much out of me, usually.

But I can openly speak about it, sort of. I can say, Yes, this happened to me and no, I don't believe it was my fault. I will fight for as long as I am able (punch by punch, blow by blow) to try to stop this from ever happening again to anyone. Part of the reason I am how I am is because of this; I don't believe anymore in giving up because I've tried to give up, and no matter what, forgetting does not happen. I have my mind and that's all I need to do this. I mean, I can't go into details and I still refuse to (I honestly doubt I'll ever want to/be able to), but I can at least speak out against it and face that it happened. Meh, someday I'll feel like I got over it, hopefully.

Earlier this year, probably in September, I stayed up the whole night because I knew I'd get a flashback (I can sometimes feel when I'm going to) if I fell asleep. I have bad insomnia (always have) so this didn't feel like as big of a deal to me. Around 5:30 or 6, when the sun was about to come up all the way, I started having a panic attack. I ran about a mile to David's house, panicking and about to burst the entire time, go to his door, got inside, and completely broke down. I shook and cried and couldn't stop hyperventilating. I sometimes blank out when I have panic attacks (and therefore say weird shit I don't remember saying), but this wasn't one of those times, and I remember saying as I calmed down: "Someday, I will wake up and I will never do this again. It'll be over." I believe that. It will be a distant memory as opposed to something I relive again and again and again.

I am so tired right now. That was actually somewhat difficult to write.