For so many years the silence suffocated me. The years of asthma attacks, and my body speaking for me. The anorexia...my body screaming to be heard, and yet my voice was silent. I wanted to make sense of the rape, to understand the sensations, the feelings...the pain, and what also felt good. The body feels, and the loss of control is confusing. There is so much shame in those feelings. I was often home alone in my early teenage years. I wanted to make sense of those feelings. My therapist says that I wanted power, and I still don't know about that. I would invite boys up into my mothers bed, to do with my body what they wanted. Was there power in that? I suppose...These are things that I've never spoke of before, except in therapy. My trauma therapist says that what happened...what I did was normal, and to be expected...so common in victims of abuse, and yet, so much shame...so much. Why my mother's bed, and not my own. Screaming to be heard...Please, hear me. I confess, I speak, I share...Why? I do not fully understand. I want you to know, it is understandable, we aren't freaks, sluts, or any other nasty words we have told ourselves we are. We are human, we are real, and one day, we will be whole.