I still don’t understand this. If my days convince me it wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t a big deal, and that it was in fact nothing, why do my nights tell me so very drastically otherwise?

It either was or it wasn’t. How could there be a grey area?

Sober(ish) me is convinced that I’m being ridiculous. That there is quite literally nothing to think of, let alone speak of.

Drunk(ish) me has a very different version of the truth in her head.

How can they both exist? I’ve yet to process this fully. I’ve yet to speak about it out loud, I’ve yet to even have a complete thought about it.

Even sober me realizes the extend of this betrayal. I feel different, I’m acting different, the flashbacks still exist. I can’t hear their name, get a text, anything, without feeling just a little bit dirty and disturbed.

If I feel this way no matter what, drunk, sober, whatever…maybe it has to be significant?

I wish you knew the extend to which I was struggling with this.

How can something so seemingly black and white be every shade of grey when it comes to me?

Because I probably deserved it. It was probably my fault anyway.


I knew it was my fault.

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