Everyone is always asking me why I hate this time of year…this day in particular….It’ll be nine years tonight. Nine whole years since the night that changed my whole world. People say that it gets easier…better even…but it doesn’t. Not really. It still hurts just as much. It’s still so much a part of me; of who I am. Who I will always be.
I think about it sometimes. Where I’d be in life–who I would be–had that night never happened. If I’d be happier…if I’d not feel so damaged and or as broken as I do now. It’s the what ifs and if onlys that are the hardest. What if I hadn’t been there that night. If only I hadn’t gone to that party. If only I hadn’t been drinking that night. If only I hadn’t wandered outside. If only someone had intervened…had stopped him. If only I’d fought harder. God, there are so many if onlys. I’ve been trying so hard these past nine years to not let it consume me…but I think it’s the trying that let it happen anyways.
I’d give anything to change it. To go back and make the right choice. To save myself. I know that it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t ask for it. Or deserve what happened to me. I know all that….but knowing it and believing it are two very different things. I know it’s pointless…but all I’ve ever wanted in these nine years is to know WHY. Just why. Why me??
I miss it. My life. The ways things used to be. I miss me. I miss all of it. And it hurts. It hurts so damn much. I hate what it’s done to me. How much it has changed me–how much I’ve let it change me. For years, I was so ashamed. And it’s taken me nine years to finally accept that it’s not my shame. It’s not my guilt. It’s his–whoever HE was.
I hate when people use the label “victim”. Victim. I hate the word. It’s like admitting defeat and accepting weakness. And that scares the hell out of me–being vulnerable in the eyes of the world. What makes me really angry is when people say that you’re lucky to still be alive, because it’s simply not true. That night and what happened–it had nothing to do with luck. I can’t even count the number of times over the past nine years that I’ve wished the opposite–thinking it would have been better off if I had died that night. If I had–I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have all these regrets or these memories. I wouldn’t have had to sleep with the light on for months, being terrified of the evil that lurks in the darkness and the nightmares. I wouldn’t be this scared of letting people in or to trust anyone. I wouldn’t see him in every guy I pass on the street. I wouldn’t feel this lost of feel this unfixable. I wouldn’t be this messed up..
I wonder how it’ll be another nine years from now. If I’ll still be this broken. If it’ll still hurt this much. I want to believe that it gets better. That the pain eventually goes away. I really do. I want to believe that there’s still some good left in this world–and that we haven’t lost it all. I want to believe that there’s more. That the world is bigger and that there’s more to life than this. I don’t want to carry this with me for the rest of my life. I’m not that strong–no matter how much I might pretend to be.
I want to believe in love again. To believe in the magic. I want to believe that these years and everything I have gone through wasn’t in vain. I want to believe that it’s worth worth it. That I’m worth it. But more than anything…I want to be happy–to know that I can be. Because if I can’t, then I’m just not sure I can be here or do this. There has to be more. There just has to be. Because if there’s not…then what are we doing here? What are any of us doing here…
~I open my eyes, I try to see.
But I’m blinded by the white light.
I can’t remember how. I can’t remember why,
I’m lying here tonight.
And I can’t stand the pain.
And I can’t make it go away.
No, I can’t stand the pain.
How could this happen to me?
I’ve made my mistakes.
Got nowhere to run.
The night goes on as I’m fading away.
I just want to scream…how could this happen to me?
I’m slipping off the edge.
I’m hanging by a thread.
I want to start this over again.
So I try to hold on to a time when nothing mattered.
And I can’t explain what happened.
And I can’t erase the things that I’ve done.
How could this happen to me??
—SIMPLE PLAN’s “UNTITLED”—