My facade of happiness

I’ve been thinking about writing about this topic for a couple days.
I’m scared shitless on how much it’s physically and emotionally going to take from me.
Everyday I wish it could be all over.
That I could go back to the first time it happened.
That I could have a voice
That I would’ve said something.
Yet I didn’t
I blame myself for all of this.
I feel like it’s my fault.
Like I could have stopped it.

I didn’t have to let him do those things.
Though I laid there and let him take
My soul
My life.

I let him take everything away from me.
Now as a twenty three year old
I’m lost more than I was back then.

I wish I knew what I know now.

I remember for the longest time
I thought that this is what life was
That it happened to everyone

There was a time when I enjoyed what he was doing
Than there were times when I would say no.
Only to get punched.

One time I was laying down on Estelle street on a pull out couch trying to go to bed.
To hear him sneaking up on me.
Thinking I don’t want to go through this tonight.
Only to feel those cold lifeless hands slide across my body.
Turning me over, Pulling my pants down, and start giving me head.
Trying to act like I was asleep, Asking him “what are you doing?”
But he already knew what he wanted to do.
He did it a hundred times before.
It wasn’t about me
It never was

Then why does it feel like my fault?
Why couldn’t my dad get up and go to the bathroom
Why couldn’t he catch him doing those things to me.