I joined this site a few days ago because this coming Wednesday I’ll be going in to talk to an investigator and make a report about a rape that occurred seven years ago. When I joined, I talked to a few people, but most of them disconnected when I got to the meat of my problem. I’m not afraid. I know Wednesday will suck. I will probably cry during the interview. But I’ll live. I’ll move on. What I’m worried about is after. Being afraid of him and the rape defined my existance for the last seven years. I believed fate made a mistake and he was supposed to have killed me. I never thought I would live passed eighteen because some day he’d realize I was the only witness. It has taken me all these years, because I know I’m finally strong enough to face him by myself since no one did back then. But what then? I never expected to live this long. I don’t really have plans or hopes or dreams. I exist day to day, and while I’m happy with that, I can’t help but think it’s kind of hallow. He didn’t kill me, but I don’t know how to start really living again. I’ve been so bitter and untrusting it almost became a shield. I’m ready to let it go, but without this thing to define myself by, even if it is bad, I can’t help but worry I’ll be left not knowing myself or how to go forward at all.