Life after assault

Warning this is a bit of a heavy share, but I have to release it. One day I hope to look back on this and be proud of myself for allowing me to feel.

Looking at old pictures of myself, I realized I didn't stop wearing makeup or let myself be plain because I wanted to "love me without the makeup." I did it because I didn't want to be seen, or noticed. I did it because being sexually assaulted by my brother in law made me want to disappear. It made me not want to be noticed by the outside world. It took my power and my voice and reminded me that I am not protected or loved. I am only a body. I'm not a person who deserves beauty because my beauty has only brought me pain and my voice has only brought me shame, it has made me fear myself and the things that I felt I had attracted to me because of my looks, this face. It made me doubt any and every decision I had ever made. I no longer had trust, not just for the world around me but I no longer had trust in myself. I stopped looking for ways to beautify me because a beautiful me has always attracted danger. Once I was old enough, I thought I had escaped it, but he, Justin Pointer, reminded me of everything I've ever hated about being alive in this body. And I hate myself for ever believing that I could ever trust the people that say they love me, or would do anything for me, that they would protect me. Help me, shield me from harm. But in the end they became the GREATEST source of my pain that I alone must endure.

I didn't have insecurities before then, my thoughts weren't flooded with overthinking. I was on the go. Trusting, open, explorative, motivated. I believed in myself, I believed in the world. I didn't want to be isolated, I wanted to be seen, be out. I was safe, and secure within me. I was able to look at myself outside of a filtered lense. When I looked at me I didn't see my sad face, and dark eyes. I didn't see my anxiety, and hurt feelings. I didn't see my dismay. I missed the days where I could just breathe. The air in my lungs was pure. Until he gut punched me. Turning my once happy thoughts into a world of chaos and feelings of defeat. I made myself believe that things weren't that bad, it couldn't have been because no one noticed my light getting dim. He reminded me that the world was grim and far from peaceful. He reminded me that I could never and would never be safe. Be sheltered. Be cared for. Because the only people that believe the victim are the people who committed the hate.

And it's not that he was my first abuser. But he was the one that watched me grow, heard my horror stories, witnessed my pains and DECIDED to do the same. IHY.