I reconnected with an old friend recently, we never had a falling out rather we just lost touch, it seems like this was the perfect time for re-connection for both of us.

I am grateful that I made my compromise with myself that I will "kill myself" by ending the life I know, instead of ending it all together.

I am back on the abuse survivor forums, but this time they actually help instead of make me spiral more, that feels like moving forward. So, there has been some sense of peace from that. Perhaps the "in person" abuse survivor support groups I have been attending are adding to this feeling of reassurance as well. Recently, I read something that noted how we should not think of ourselves as the one exception case where our abusive situation was different than the others. It is odd, because when I read people's testimonials I can not believe how much I relate to them, almost as though I could have written them myself, it is scary. Yet, when I face my own abuse I feel this sense that, "It was different for me." As though I am the one exception of this false victim who actually deserved it. Granted, there are people who say this to me. There are also people who blame Amber Heard and dismiss victims of Epstein and Company, so why am I surprised? Once again, I am not special, for better or for worse. Sometimes, testimonials of other abuse victims can be so scary to read, because how do their abusers sound the same as mine? Sometimes it is nearly exact quotes or actions. Even things that I would read about before they happened, things that I would use as a mental excuse, "See," I tell myself, "I wasn't actually being abused because this specific thing didn't happen to me." Then, I wait a few weeks or a few months and it happens to me. I was not special, I am not different. It is scary because it forces me out of this denial of myself. If I deny my experience, if I say, "it was my fault," then I can feel a sense of control over my life. To acknowledge that you can be hurt and it is largely out of your own control, that is scary, and tragic, and confusing.

My only solace is that when I talk to other victims of abuse we completely understand each other. It is just as relieving to them when I share my experiences as it is when theirs are shared with me. It is like it all makes sense, we are all sharing in one horrifying reality that can't possibly seem real. Although, there is an isolation in that lately, as I can not relate to people who have not been victims of abuse, because they can not fathom the space in my mind and body that is consumed by that trauma.

Maybe if I were a man, or wealthy, or beautiful, or popular, or could write as well as Mitski, suddenly my voice would be valued, even by those who can not comprehend my experiences, for now I will accept that I am only understood by those who have felt the pain the same as me. I need to open my eyes more, because I am sure there is something more valuable about that than I give credit for.