I badly wanted to rant about work. Aaarrrggghhhh out time is still 3 hrs away. I want to get out of here already
Yess omg i so wanted to wake up two hours after i went to sleep because my tummy hurts so much and im really nauseous and now ill get so little sleep cause i have a lot of plans HOW did you know
Im liking the name Killian too much. I cant change it again... Remy fits to well. But Killian is a nice name too... can I use both ir something? UGH 😭
Journal Entry. April 16, 2026 – Mississauga I’m 32. I’m writing this because keeping it in my head isn’t working anymore. I need to see it. I need it to be real and outside of me. Age 7. Jordan. We were both 7. He forced a kiss on me. I didn’t want it. I didn’t understand it. That was my first experience of unwanted sexual contact. Age 9. Helder. He was my ex boyfriend. He was 14. He molested me. There was no intercourse, but he still abused me. I was 9. I couldn’t consent. Aamer. My first stepdad. He never touched me, but he made me touch him. He forced me to massage his leg near his genitals. I told him I wasn’t comfortable. He did it anyway. That’s sexual abuse. “Only forced touch” is still abuse. Keshawn. Sometimes mean, sometimes nice. He hurt me too. Zachary. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t my friend. He was my bully. And he sexually abused me. Age 15. School bus. I fell asleep. Jake, my ex boyfriend, used my genitals. He took my virginity while I was unconscious. I was 15. I couldn’t consent. That was rape. Age 17. Jake again. The second time. I told him no. I was terrified of getting pregnant. So he dragged me to the basement and told me to take my pants off. He raped me. My “no” meant nothing to him. Age 28. Terry. My ex boyfriend. The last one. From 7 to 28. Twenty-one years. Jordan. Helder. Aamer. Keshawn. Zachary. Jake. Terry. Seven names. A 7-year-old boy. Teenage ex boyfriends. A stepdad. A bully. A sometimes-nice guy. The labels don’t matter as much as this: my body wasn’t mine for 21 years. Seven isn’t “not many.” One is too many. 21 years is too long. I’m not reporting to the police. That’s my choice. I don’t owe anyone my trauma in a courtroom. But God witnessed. I witnessed. This page is witness. I used to think I was broken. Damaged goods. I’m not. I was harmed. Repeatedly. By people who had more power, more age, or just didn’t care that I said no or couldn’t say no. I’m 32 now. I’m still here. My body is mine today. My “no” is mine today. My story is mine today. That’s where I start. 662 millions of men are fucking nasty and so disgusting they deserve a exhibit…
My sleep schedule is so fucked I go to sleep at 4am then I'm tired so I go sleep at like 5pm then I wake up at 8pm and think "fuck I haven't done anything all day!" Then go to sleep at 4am