So, today marks the anniversary of one of the worst days in my life. A year today I was raped by a taxi driver and had to fight for my life. The justice system failed me and the whole ordeal ended with me sobbing with two policewomen who were also crying and telling me that they believed me.
And that meant a lot that they believed me.
It was harrowing, it was life changing, it was traumatic.
I’m doing okay. I’m happy in my life and my work life. I am currently making strides. I’m going to be fine.
I have to be fine. That night changed my life and perspective forever. Yeah, I know I could have a ‘grown up’ job or go into management or whatever but I’m happy. And I have to go to therapy once a week, soon to go up to 18 hours a week.
I also have BPD which is a fucking minefield.
I am happy. I am happy. Happy. And that comes from someone who a few years ago tried to end their life.
Everyday since then had been a blessing. I wasn’t supposed to be here anymore, so everyday since I treasure and live to the fullest, to happiness
Even though I have been raped. I am still me. I am still living.
I’m fucked up.