Other people look at you and see only pieces. They can't see what you've gone through. They can't really understand. It's different for everyone. You can't be who they want you to be. You know who you are, but you're too afraid to tell them. They don't want to know. They couldn't listen. What if it were them? You wouldn't ask them that. The question alone is a pain you wouldn't want to put on anyone.

You wouldn't have wanted this for yourself, but it is what happened. With accepting it, accepting your place in it, you defined yourself around it. Once you came to terms with who you are, what you are, you settled into the mold cast for you. You learned the rules of this game. You learned to work with it. You found the good in what would seem to have no good. They wouldn't understand that. They wouldn't understand how there is a comfort in knowing the score, working the game, being able to decide to let this happen to you. They wouldn't understand how the things you could tell them, things that would make them shiver with fear, or cringe with disgust, could seem like pleasant memories compared to the other choices at the time. How a small reprieve could make up for the other times of fear, pain, despair.
They would think you gave in, or you wanted these things to happen to you, but you know, there was no stopping it. No controlling the situation except in how you looked at it. Damn those who won't understand. You came out alive because of how you looked at it.

And you're still looking. Maybe someday things will happen that will change you more. But you'll be changing from where you stand now, not changing from what they don't want to see, to what they want to see. You'll be adding onto something that they don't even want to know about, so there's no telling where you'll end up.

My prayers are with you.

(inspired by a Jim Goad article on rape, featuring the late Donny the Punk)