I don't like to talk about it.

I don't want to talk about it. I see no reason to talk about it and see no good coming from doing so. Especially after having such bad outcomes from it in the past. And really, why talk? What's the big deal? I don't get it. Yet still, something inside me urges me to speak. Some still small voice is in there begging me to tell..

Tell what?

I don't feel like there is anything to tell. I don't know what to say. I don't remember, and I don't want to remember. But that just confuses me more. After all, it was nothing traumatic. Sometimes I wish it had been something awful, something painful. Then maybe I would feel somehow justified for feeling the way I do. And then I feel guilty and stupid and ridiculous for thinking such things. I feel that I've somehow trivialized the experiences of survivors of real abuse.

It's not that I think it was okay. I know it was wrong. I hang on to that. But how do I reconcile my part, my involvement, my responsibility, if I can't even stand the idea of replaying it in my mind? I'm afraid of what I might remember - even though I know it was nothing horrible, just kissing, and touching.. I'm afraid that if I remember it too clearly, I will find out that it was my fault, that I was the one who started it. And then what? How could I live with the accusations I've made? It seems like it would be easier to just leave it alone, forget about it, and move on.

But it always come back. And it demands to get out. And I fight the urge to talk over and over because it's embarrassing.. and I don't want to talk about it.