still
I am still so angry about everything. When you asked me about it and I was at loss of words for an explanation, that's when it came flooding out. I used to think I was angry and hurt, but over it. But I am still so angry at him and at him and I feel like a child beating at the chest of a monster because I know no amount of anything will fix it. The scars are rough and ill-patched, fixed by alcohol, copious amounts of writing, crying in a fetal position and the years. The long, tedious years that seem to only dull the truth. The truth, muddled and unclear. Barely sure if it really happened. To me. The realization that I am now a statistic sinks in. I want to yell, to scream, to shout to the world what he did to me but it will never change what happened. It will never take away the anger. I am still so angry.