I used to be a sexual assault victim. In kindergarten I tried to tell my teacher but I was ignored, so I stayed quiet from then on.
I used to be an abuse victim. With an alcoholic mother I was afraid of constantly.
I used to be an abandonment victim. With a mother so sick she had to leave to get better, leaving my brother and I alone.
I used to be a victim of innocence. When I first learned about death, something normal for once.
I used to be a victim of heartbreak. When I fell too easily in love with the most beautiful angel in the whole universe, and she moved halfway across the world but never stayed in contact... this was another taste of normal, but I still don’t know if I’ve ever cried harder.
I used to be a victim to a chronic liar. A best friend and a first love who hurt me far too many times, who became the beginning to a tough love life.
I used to be an abuse victim. When my first boyfriend drank in front of me for the first time, when I thought of my mother, and when he lost his cool.
I used to be a victim to a cheater. When a boy decided I wasn’t enough for him, again, something normal.
I used to be a rape victim. When my boyfriend, 8 years older than me, couldn’t control himself... at least that’s what he said when I forgave him.
I used to be an abuse victim. When I stayed with my rapist, believed what he told me, and decided he was always right... so I’d submit.
I used to be a victim to a cheater. When I decided, finally, to leave my rapist, when he admits to seeing another girl.
I used to be a victim to myself. When I’d get involved with strange people and allow myself to be used in more ways than one.
I am now no longer a victim. But I am so very very lost.