you come home from West Point. 

breathe cassie, you can do this

and I feel like I can’t make it another moment without you here. I can’t wait for my heart to skip a beat as your knock on my door.

CLOTHES ARE NOT AN EXCUSE FOR RAPE
I’m sorry but just because she was wearing heels or a skirt or a revealing shirt or all three is NEVER an “invitation” for an man to rape a woman.

I dont know why men think that it’s a good defense to say “she was asking for it”. NO. She was not asking to be brutally raped and sodomized or beaten and bruised. Nobody asks I be tortured or mocked. No woman asks to live with post traumatic stress disorder for the rest of her life. No woman asks to have night terrors or flashbacks haunting her day in and day out.
Men who rape women deserve to burn in hell. And that may sound very harsh and cruel but I DON’T CARE. I wish I had the comfort of knowing that my rapist was dear o AT LEAST in jail.
No man who rapes deserves to have freedoms or liberties or joy. I wish very one of them could experience the trauma that they put their victims through.

And that’s my angry post for today.
Thanks for reading.

but there’s nothing here to eat. 

do I even want to eat? no, not really. 

but I know I have to. all I’ve eaten today is a bagel and a scone. 

I’ve also worked out twice and am feeling pretty good, besides the pain. the pain is bad but not unbearable. 

I got my math homework done for the most part. I’m super nervous about my anatomy exam on friday because my teacher won’t be here the whole week, which means no review. lovely. and this is the hardest chapter: the brain. 

I also have a forensics test on wednesday that is going to be super hard…. when will it all be over? 

I wanna go fishing. 

Can I just go on a rant now please.
I feel fat. I’m disgusted with my body. I look at pictures of me from last year or a year ago and I can’t believe how good I looked. I was beautiful.
Sometimes I want to crawl out of my own skin. I want to be skinny again and have lots of friends and be content. I want to feel beautiful.
In lonely. And I hate that. I hate this empty feeling. You know, I have the best boyfriend in the entire universe. He is my knight in shining armor. And I am madly in love with him. But you know what the problem is? He’s not here. He’s off doing amazing things at west point while his girlfriend is back home not doing well in school and unhappy. She’s back here getting ready to go to community college while her boyfriend is at one of the top schools in the nation. I miss him and hate that he’s not here. Is that selfish?
I want to go on fun dates like we used to. I want To go get sushi on a Friday night and then go Kay under the stars at the lake like we used to. I want to go downtown and go I te museum with him but I can’t.
I want to be able to celebrate mothers day tomorrow with my mother but I can’t. I refuse to celebrate that day with a woman who acts like anything but a mother. I have no “mother”. Do you know how that feels? Probably not.
Hell, my own brother and sister barely talk to me. I’m just alone.

I miss my boyfriend and I miss having a family and I miss being hugged and having friends and I miss being happy. I feel like all I ever am lately is blank. No emotion. But sometimes, I’m really just trying my very hardest to hold back the tears.

I’m sick of that feeling I get when I walk into a building or go into a store or turn a corner. That feeling of “what if” haunts me every time.
What if he’s here? What if he’s siting at that table over there, or in the elevator or walking on the other side of the street? What will I do? Where is my escape route? What if he recognizes me before I recognize him? What then?
nobody understands this fear except for other rape victims. And that’s really hard.
You know, I think about the following question a lot: what’s worse, knowing who my attacker is and having his face etched into my brain or not knowing who he is and questioning everyone you meet or run into… Wondering f he was who raped you. The haunting image in my brain or the pain of not knowing. What is worse? I don’t know. Some days I wish I could just forget everything about him. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he touched me… But I can’t. It’s impossible.
I wish I knew where he was. I wish I knew if he still lived in my town. But would that make a difference?
I wish I could talk to the detective who ran my case. I’d ask him to look. If also ask him if he’d contact me if another victim has come forward. I want to know when he hurts someone else again. I know he will. His, why couldn’t I have just won my case? Then no other girls would have to be hurt by the sick man who hurt me.
Maybe he would be in jail right now if things had been different back then… Maybe. But I can’t keep taunting myself with these thoughts. Life lives on.