admitting my rape.

r is here to visit me from nyc. we're lying on my bed and she looks right at me and says, "larisa, have you ever been raped?" i paused for a second. it's not what i talk about. and then i looked her right in the eyes and said, "yes."
"really?" she asks. "you too?"
so i told her everything. well, not everything but stories about it. about how i felt. about how i didn't expect it to follow me for so long. i talked to her about things i can't really talk about with anyone. but i said it. i admitted it. i admitted i was raped.
why is it cause for such shame? why do i feel like the one to blame? like someone will say to me, "oh, that's not rape..that was you not being strong enough, not setting boundries, putting yourself in a bad situation.." maybe. but maybe not.

i'm not sure if i feel better or worse.
but for right now i feel sleepy and secure and i'm going to rest in my bed.

love you,
larisa