Journal Entry One

I can’t believe I’m finally writing this—but it’s time to get it off my chest. I was almost raped, nearly three years ago, when I was fourteen. I’ve been carrying that around with me all this time, like a ball and chain, weighing me down, pulling me under. Drowning me. I’ve never taken the time to talk about it, or to really heal. In fact, not even my own mother took the time to help me heal. She just said how lucky I am I wasn’t killed, or worse.

There’s only been one thing that’s ever brought me solace. That scumbag, Tom, and his friends, didn’t realize who I am, and what I’m capable of. It was him or me, and I had to make a choice.

He won’t be bothering anyone else…ever again. And even though I’m NOT sorry I did what I had to do, my own self-defense changed everything…it ruined everything.

When I woke up the next morning with my head in my mother’s lap, I honestly thought I was dead. I can’t really remember much after the “kiss” with my would-be rapist.

I was so relieved when I realized I was alive, and awake, and my ordeal was over. But then my mother said the six most terrifying words I’ve ever heard, or probably ever will again…

“No Nerissa, it's just the beginning."


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