Yes I Was Raped.

Dying.. It looks so easy in the movies. A person just dies due to sickness and yet it’s been two years since the night that the fatal sickness crippled under my skin, stained my heart jet black and my clothes blood red and I’m still breathing. I wonder how my heart and lungs are still working knowing that..

….To the world I am just a worthless insect that everyone wants to crush.

To the world I am a caged animal, they point fingers at me.

To the world, I am a chewing gum under the seat that they accidentally come in contact with and are disgusted to their guts.

To the world, I am a rotten wound that heals slowly but leaves a mark as a reminder.

To the world, I’m a timebomb. They need to learn that everything with a clock doesn’t blow up.

To the world, I am a book of pornography that everyone wants to read but no one wants to be seen holding.

To the world, I am an oppressed creature that would be better off dead.

To the world, I am a disgrace to my parents’ reputation…

Does a broken, pitiable, characterless raped girl like me have the right to ask a question without​ people turning their faces away from me? I have a question for this so called respectable society that disowns a raped victim and tells her she’s the one who’s at fault.

WHAT WAS MY FAULT?

…So I was at fault when I cried for help at the top of my lungs and no one came to rescue me, rather the people stood there or ran away from there.

I was at fault when I tried to help myself by struggling and broke my nails and various bones along with my hopes and dreams.

I was at fault when after they left me there half-naked on the ground numb with pain and longing for death no one bothered checking on me.   

I was at fault when not even the death came to my rescue and I walked shoeless and drenched in blood through the streets and the audience didn’t come near me.

I was at fault when I knocked the door of my parents’ home as a cry for help in front of everyone and became a disgrace to my parents’ reputation…

I was at fault so my life is a living hell and the guys who did this to me get to live in peace. Why? because being raped is a shameful thing and being a rapist is not?

Yes, I was raped but I no longer wear that shame as a dress. I no longer wear the perfume of regret. I no longer try to put together my broken heart because my pride is my armour. I’m proud that I survived. I survived.

Picture Source:- Google.