I'd like to share my story. I am hesitant to use words to describe my experiences: rape threats, suicide attempts, panic attacks, depression, anxiety. I've been told that my experiences aren't these things. I've been told that it wasn't a rape threat, he didn't mean it, it was middle school, that's how everyone talks. I've realized that the damage I caused to myself when I "attempted suicide" was less than some people cause to themselves with self-harm. I've been told that it wasn't a panic attack (it wasn't) but a temper tantrum (in reality, it was closer to a meltdown); and today, four years later, I cannot call my anxiety attacks panic attacks. I've pondered whether I was ever really depressed, or if I was just dramatic and lazy. I've been told that my anxiety isn't real, by my family, by my doctors; only for, just recently, after mentioning how difficult it is to cross the street, because I'm terrified of inconveniencing others and them becoming angry at me, these same people nod their heads and say, casually, "I think that's called social anxiety." I want you to know, whoever you are, that you are the person you are. Don't let someone tell you a rape threat wasn't a rape threat. It doesn't matter if they're 12, 20, or 65; if they say "go f*ck yourself before I f*ck you," or something else; whether or not it's after weeks of sex jokes; whether or not they've mixed ketchup and ranch dressing together and called it a rape scene. Don't let them tell you it wasn't real.
My Story (Hope it can Help)
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