Yes, I really sent it.

Basically what you said the day of the old incident amounted to, ‘Now you know you’re a victim, put it behind you and move on.’ You wanted me to use drugs just to get it gone. Even though it had been as gone as I could get it for twenty-four years while only its invisible ghost remained to haunt me and hound me into insanity until I remembered. That is not therapeutic advice. It’s toxic. It’s so polluted with your own crap that it makes me want to puke. Even so, I needed your support so much at that time that I felt as if I should somehow apologize to you because it caused you so much inconvenience for me to be raped. What it caused for me ceased to matter. I had to stuff it down. I had to take a back seat again because complaining about things such as rape is really just a bunch of whining over nothing. You said you would support me. Trust does not come easy for me. I trusted you and then you punished me for it. You said you would support me and then you waited until I was helpless and you pulled the rug right out from under me. You humiliated me and made me feel more damaged than I already felt. You hurt me. You basically told me that my feelings were unimportant and that I wasn’t right in the head because I couldn’t ignore them. I heard your explanation, but I still worry. Do you wear a mask when you speak to me? Did your mask fall off in that moment and allow me to see your real face? Why did you ask me to find a psychiatrist even before that? Was it because it had been a month or two since remembering that the dirtball raped me and finding out that people could actually ‘forget’ such things? I guess that was also inconvenient for you and I just didn’t catch on because you weren’t cruel about it and it seemed routine for one of your ilk? I am so sorry my pain has been such an irritant for you.

I searched for you for almost twenty years. I finally found you and you welcomed me. You embraced me with one hand and then you stabbed me in the back with the other. How could you? When will you do it again? When I’m small and helpless in the cellar? In the camper? Hiding in the closet? Will I call you one day after you argue with your wife and catch you in a bad mood and then find the police at my door ready to drag me off to the psyche ward for crying and being afraid? What would I tell my children? How would I ever recover? I wish you could be me for a couple of weeks. I really do. You’d better hope I’m right and Karma is just a giant crock of shit made up to keep the masses in line. Maybe you’d better find Nirvana just in case. I’d get on that right away if I were you, Buddha Boy. Or you could always just drug up and forget about it. Maybe the morbidly obese psychiatrist from the link you sent me can help you with that. When I read that she uses a nutritional approach, I would have fallen out laughing if I hadn’t been so horrified. News flash - she swallows her problems. Psychiatry is her natural calling. Maybe you’ll get a two for one and she does DBT on the side. There’s nothing like cementing the denial before diving into the drugs. People generally seem to rely more on drug use after taking in such toxic sludge because they can’t be fully present in the moment with that level of cognitive dissonance. And you know what they say… live in the present, or drug the fuck up.

This message has been brought to you as a courtesy by Rambo and the teenage girl. And me. I feel them now. And right now I think you suck. Violet and the little girl don’t think so, but I do.