#whykeepfighting

sometimes you’d never be able to tell that the struggle is real. now, I don’t mean that in the sense of its normal use in today’s society but in the sense that I sometimes feel like I’m drowning. Imagine yourself, sitting in a space you once found comfortable, and no longer being able to stand it because as soon as you get there, your anxiety raises, your flashback starts and it’s like you are living it all over again. 

If only people knew that joy could be faked. now, some may argue with me and tell me that happiness is what I mean to be referring to. It’s not. To many, and probably most, you’d never know the constant hell I put myself through because I felt I deserved it. I did something wrong, somewhere a boundary was crossed, maybe I dressed in a way that made me deserve it, maybe I could have fought harder. Harder. How much harder could you have fought? Could I have screamed louder with his hands around my neck, and the struggle to breathe loomed larger than my desire to talk and try to soothe my attacker. Could I have thrown better punches, when the heat of his hands precariously placed on the most intimate areas of my body. Could. Could is a dangerous game to play, and one that I continue to play often. Could... it have been different. Could.... it have been better for me.... could I have done something.