I was raped (God — I hate admitting/saying/typing that in reference to myself!) early October 2016 by a guy I considered my “friend.” He was a friend until that moment I told him “stop” and he didn’t stop.
Months ago he died and I think I’ve felt every emotion I possibly could, from relief, to anger, to guilt, to physical sickness, but mostly betrayal by friends who were posting on social media about “how great he was” when they don’t know what he did (with the exception of one “friend” and that one really stung).
Mostly I’ve just wanted to be drunk/high and alone. I’m happy he’s gone. I’m relieved. I will never have to hear his name or see his face or ever have the chance of running into him when I’m in my hometown.
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