Anniversary

Trigger warning: sexual assault.

It was either December 2nd or December 3rd, I don't remember which. This means I get two evenings in which my brain relives it more than it does the rest of the year.

I broke up with them a week later for unrelated reasons, and they wouldn't let me break up with them for three or four hours.

They ate my ass, in case you were wondering. A perfectly normal (for millennials) sexual act. If they'd asked, I would have said yes. I might have liked it. I would have felt comfortable telling them what I liked and didn't like, afterwards.

But they apparently didn't understand that verbal consent is always essential. It was our first time doing anything besides kissing, and the previous night they had yelled at me, enraged because of a miscommunication.

I used to blame myself for not telling them why what they did was wrong. When I think that now, I try to remind myself that right now, my recovery is more important to me than their growth as a person, and it's not always my responsibility to fix the people who hurt me.

Yesterday I made a decision about my body, and it felt cathartic. I, and no one else, decide what happens on and in my body, and I trust myself to make decisions that won't kill me. This is a new feeling for me, and I'm slightly disoriented, but also I'm really proud of myself. There's still healing to do, but I'm solidly on a healthy track.

This is half a post but it feels like the right length.