A week ago I had a complete breakdown. The kind where you sink into the floor and wish it would just absorb you. I wasn't thinking of killing myself, but I wouldn't have minded if I died. Anytime I was driving alone I'd think maybe this is the time I could be hit by a car running a red light. I needed to feel pain. Physical pain is what I wanted. I understand it really wouldn't have helped anything, but I felt like I needed that to distract me from the emotional turmoil. I wanted to stop existing. Fall into a coma and sleep the pain away. Brandon would ask me to talk to him, to tell him what I was feeling and thinking. There were no words to explain how I felt. For the first time in a very long time I was back at stage one. I couldn't deny the pain of the things that I went through. Years and years of barriers had been knocked down and I felt lost, lonely and afraid. I questioned everything. Why did it happen to me? Why did I keep the secret for so long? Why was I even born? How am I going to be a wife and mom through this? I couldn't understand why God let it all happen. The years before I told my secret I'd imagined what life would be like once Drew was out of the picture. I thought life would be so simple. In some ways it was. I didn't have to go to his house anymore, ride in his car or sit on his lap. I didn't have to practice passing my gum into his mouth with my tongue anymore and I could have privacy in the bathroom. But he was still on my mind all the time. I was sure he was going to show up somewhere. I was worried he'd come to my school and take me. I'd have flashbacks, feel dirty and I didn't want to talk to anyone about these things. So I began stuffing the memories. I'd put on a smile and fake it. After some time I felt like I'd moved on because I wasn't faking the smile anymore. Then something would happen and I'd have to stuff all over again. This has been the way it is. I'd stuff then lose control. Regain control and I'd coast along for months at a time then lose it yet again. I noticed each time stuffing was easier and I had more control over my feelings. I knew I couldn't go on like that forever, and I didn't want to. I wanted to share my story but I hadn't anticipated what it's done to me. I never thought I'd wish so hard to die, or wish I had an injury I could focus on. I hadn't considered how I would feel to no longer have the mask on. I can't fake my way through things anymore. As hard and scary as this is I know I'm taking the next step in healing. I'll always have my memories but by sharing them I feel like they don't have the control they once did. I've had so many people reach out to comfort me, support and encourage me. I've reached a few other victims and I'm so happy for that. Blogging is the hardest and most therapeutic thing I've done. I spent a week in misery. I know there are more rough weeks ahead. But the next time it gets really hard I'll remember that people are praying for me and I'm not as alone as I feel.