I didn't know what a penis looked like, I didn't know what you expected a 4 year old to do with it, but you tried anyway. You caused a fracture in my world, cost me the ability to trust ANYONE & caused a chasm in my relationship with my dad. You gave my mother a reason, an excuse, to play the martyr at my expense. You caused me hell for years, making me feel like I'd never be safe, making me feel like all men were dicks.
Dear Mason,
Fuck you. My hatred for you burns like acid on my soul. I should have gone with my gut, J said you were a creeper, but I was vulnerable & you took advantage of that. Fuck you fuck you fuck YOU!!! I tried to forget The Trauma. I can't. Every year, you regain the upper hand on March 6. You've taken beautiful parts of life & made them humiliating & gross. I've searched the casualty lists, I never found you. I wish I had. But knowing that maybe, somewhere out there, you relive battle nightmares from one war or another, makes me giggly. I hate you & hope you suffer thru life like the piece of shit that you are.
(This is all I have today. I waited too long, this is a different set of letters that I'd wanted to write. I'm raw & super hyper-anxious today. Praying for release in a healthy manner.... Remember The Rage? I'm close...)
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