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I still have feelings!


Diego, Diego, Diego.

How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care. I told you to choose a woman and get it over with. Oh, but that’s not what you meant! The girl you accidentally raped (and then tried to cuddle better) in college suicided and you’re at fault! You still have feelings!!!!!

Of course you fucking have feelings. You won’t forgive yourself for what happened, even though it has nothing to do with you. Your love-making triggered a rape victim to remember her previous raping. You were present and in the moment with her and going a bit faster than you probably should have, which is pretty natural with your first love. In fact, this is a trauma meant to bond a man and a woman together for life. The woman is supposed to inform you to STOP and then you stop, make up with her, cuddle, and life moves on.

Except she stole that opportunity from you. Life didn’t move on for her. Her trauma over daddy fucking her in the bathroom as a child really fucked her head up. On one hand, her body liked it, even if it was too rough. On the other, she didn’t know what was happening to her as she was violated and forced to experience sexual release while completely asexual.

CHILDREN ARE ASEXUAL, YOU RAPING BASTARDS. THEY DO NOT WANT TO FUCK YOU. YOU WANT TO FUCK THEM.

This young lady chose to end her promising life in college thanks to daddy giving her all he’s got. Diego, you may have triggered her, but you didn’t role-play being her daddy. You didn’t talk to her like she was your child. You spoke to her as your lover, most likely with love. She needed a fucking therapist more than a boyfriend. But, twenty years ago, therapy wasn’t as normalized. It wasn’t as widely accessible. It wasn’t as easy to get into. And it cost a pretty penny she might not have had.

You can blame yourself all you want, but the fact at the end of the day is that daddy is her villain. Diego is an innocent bystander watching her implode as she essentially screams for help by killing herself, but she took the permanent solution to a problem that trauma therapy could have resolved. (If only trauma therapy existed as a field of focus twenty years ago.)

Like all suiciding assholes, she left behind survivors. Parents. Siblings. Friends. Grandparents. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Friends. YOU.

Okay, so you raped her. We’re all rapists, for one thing, and you have to forgive yourself. You can only forgive yourself if you’ve affected long-lasting change, if you’ve given up the behavior that triggered the woman. However, you need to know one thing: it’s very possible that you did nothing. Her brain could have simply recalled the time daddy raped her randomly whilst you were making love.

The duality of it will shatter souls who don’t figure out how to survive. On one hand, she’s with her loved one, being intimate. On the other, she was raped by her own sperm donor. I call him a sperm donor because if he had one parental bone in his body, he would not have ever touched his own offspring as if they were a sexual entity that consented when he never asked.

Did you ask your girl to have sex? Was she enjoying it before that incident happened? If the answers are YES, then you’re not to blame. She may have blamed you because of her own limitations, but that was not within her right to do so. She was being a narcissistic cunt. And then, by completing her suicide, she triggered you to feel worthless. She violated you and everyone she knew. She made death seem like an answer. She made ending it look like the right way to go.

She’s wrong. She’s still wandering this Earth as a spirit. They all are. Every single dead person, animal, and plant. Their souls are still right here, overlapping our own in the third dimension. How is this possible?! one might cry. They’re energy entities, you dumb ass. They reside in a different dimension, one that is barely perceptible by most people.

So she didn’t escape her problem at all, you see. She just stopped having the ability to do something about it, other than think about it in perpetuity. She could never take another breath again. She could never love again. She could never seek therapy to try to repair her broken brain. What that girl required was celibacy. NOT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND. She needed THERAPY.

So if you want to blame yourself for not having a PhD as her peer, fine. Do that. Fuck you for holding yourself to an impossibly high standard. Fuck you for putting it all on yourself, for believing her fucking lie that you are her fucking problem. It’s her shit narcissistic parents that are her fucking problem to this day. Do you think she has been able to move on at all in her new state?

No. She hasn’t. She’s still weeping and feeling sorry for herself because daddy couldn’t keep his hands to himself. She killed other people the day she died, or parts of them. She made them believe suicide was the answer. It solved nothing for her at all.

And now you want me to believe that you are at fault for her inability to accept the reality that was? You want me to believe that you deserve to mourn that cunt for the rest of your life? She lied to you. They all lie. It’s a narcissist that commits suicide. A person who cannot see past their own nose to understand we all have problems and every problem has a solution if you look for it long enough and hard enough.

BOTTOM LINE: YOU NEED THERAPY, DIEGO.

Why? Because you need to figure out how to forgive yourself for being normal. For being young. For being inexperienced. For triggering a victim who had P.T.S.D. from RAPE. A rape she likely never told you about, even before she died.

What? We had a chat, of course, you imbecile. And I’m angry with her for blaming you for an accident and then taking her own life without talking to you about what was really bothering her.

I assure you, she is already in Hell. She has to (un)live with knowing you have guilt hanging around you to this day. She has to watch you struggle as you now have P.T.S.D. from her fucking around like a whore. She had three other lovers besides you and she wasn’t thinking about you at all during that intimate moment.

She raped you, bro.

She raped you by fucking you without paying attention to YOU. She requested the same sexual position daddy took her virginity with, inviting her shame to surface, and then it did. This is completely predictable, by the way, and you couldn’t have known without her actually talking to you. Her other lovers didn’t trigger her. Why is that? Was she still looking them in the eyes? Why wasn’t she looking you in the eyes? Don’t you deserve to be loved? Why was it she was avoiding being authentic and real with YOU? I’ll tell you why: she was programmed to believe she didn’t deserve to be loved by daddy. She was programmed to think that your kindness was not something she earned, that it was wicked, tricksy, and false. And, again, that she couldn’t possibly deserve it.

She’s wrong. We all deserve love. We were born innocent but we’ll all die guilty of some mistake or another. I know I will. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my lifetime and I still do. It’s like I’m a limited human being or some bullshit like that. It’s like I’m human.

She raped you a second time by blaming you for her own failure to communicate, be present, and her own P.T.S.D. She chose to flirt with danger. She chose to try the thing daddy showed her on the toilet. She chose to stop loving you completely, especially in her laying the blame solely at your feet instead of accepting she had any part to play in this sordid affair.

And then she raped you a third time by suiciding, closing the line of communication forever while you — tender, innocent, and sensitive young man — believed that you were her sole problem. It couldn’t be her shame in having four concurrent lovers. It couldn’t be that daddy touched her and ruined her in her asexual state of pre-puberty. (Not that doing it after puberty gives you any fucking excuse, you perverted bullshit male retards.) It couldn’t have been anything but Diego fucking her doggy style.

If you want to blame yourself for being raped thrice by this bitch, then keep on at it. No skin off my back. I’m not the one thrashing myself as the guilty party; you are. And unrightfully so, if you ask me. You are beating yourself up again and again for an event that happened two decades ago that only one person could control: Abigail Rogers. She chose to end her life because her mental anguish (and her fucking LIES to YOU) were too much for her to bear.

She couldn’t tell you what her daddy did because daddy threatened her life if she ever told a soul. She never grew up to realize that maybe daddy could be thrown in jail for touching his own daughter, which she could have learned if she just told somebody. She might’ve learned pedophiles die in jail.

She could have called Children Protective Services even at her almost adult age and told them what he did to her. She could have put daddy into jail any time between then and age 40 (now 50.) She could have called the suicide help line. It’s been around for a very long time. She could have seen a counselor or therapist. She could have even confided in a girlfriend for comfort. Instead, she blamed you and pointed the finger at you to try to make herself feel less ashamed of her rape.

And then she ended her life because she was completely miserable, blaming the one person who loved her (you) for murdering her soul. She should have blamed daddy. Additionally, if she ever gave a fuck about you, if she ever cared about you, she would have lived instead of failing to consider you whatsoever when she pulled the trigger. When she suicided. When she chose to do the one thing in her power, in her perception: end her existence.

Perhaps you can find it in you somewhere to forgive yourself for being naive and uninformed about her sordid past, her shame, her guilt, and the vow of silence she felt obligated to keep forever so that daddy could continue to plunder her innocence and destroy her soul for as long as she lived at home.

She will never forgive herself for what she’s done to you. She’s watched you plenty, I assure you, as you continue to live on. She watched you nearly kill yourself in despair because of her actions, which were ultimately caused by her father, Adam Rogers. She can’t even begin until you forgive yourself. It’s a vicious cycle like that.

You know what? I’m angry you even bring this to my doorstep. You’re an asshole. My own father did something much like it. I can’t even conceive of sexual release by myself. I “need” a male counterpart to give it to me. I raped myself, just like Abigail raped herself, over and over again. Hundreds of times now. Unlike Abigail, I never blamed my partners. I blamed myself. It is my fault that I didn’t stop it when I could have. I used to. I used to be able to use my voice, to stop, to take time to repair my psyche so that I could move forward again. I wanted to die hundreds of times for the same goddamn reason, if not thousands. In fact, I wish I was never born. And this cunt goes sleeping around on you, putting the blame on you for her own issues, and then kills herself. Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I should have killed myself by now. Fat lot of good living has done for me.

I should have died when I was fourteen years old, by this dead bitch’s logic. If her actions were a role model for anyone, anywhere, they would be for me. I’m not dead yet. Explain how this is possible. Why is it I’m not dead yet if I’ve been raped over 1,000 times and this bitch gets raped by you one time and she’s gone. I’d call her weak. I’d call her a sniveling bitch. Suck it up, buttercup. Life sucks, and then you die.

I don’t want to make you feel better, asshole. You are the only person who can make yourself feel better. Therapy can help, but YOU have to want to be better. It’s just like ceasing cigarette abuse. (All smoking of tobacco is abuse to your body.) You can’t quit if you don’t actually want to. You can’t move on without deciding to.

You’re hung up over it because you found her body. This is trauma. You’ve been trauma bound to a dead bitch. Congratulations. You can never love anyone else until you fix it. Every girl you dated since then, you raped, because she turned you into a rapist with this one selfish as fuck act. I don’t pity you. I’ve raped myself over 1,000 times. I finally got better by deciding to stop the cycle. I finally got better by deciding to be celibate until further notice. I’ve finally gotten better by deciding to introspect and resolve the fault line in myself before the tectonic plates of my soul push together, erupting and snuffing me out, forcing me into another rebirth.

Be reborn already. You are ashes. Forgive yourself so you can be renewed. Forgive her for violating you. She victimized you. She did to you exactly what daddy did to her. I bet the cycle continued the rest of your life until now, too, because you didn’t see it for what it was. And every time you did it again, you lost a little part of your core. Every time you repeated the mistake, you loved a little less and a little less, until finally, you had no love left to give and all you do is go through the motions, hoping to fake it until you make it.

Stop holding onto it all. Just let that shit go, as a Buddha t-shirt I used to have said. You are only responsible for your own actions. You are not responsible for her actions. She ended herself. You didn’t do that, no matter what she said you did to her. You did your very best to soothe her, I know you did because you’re a sensitive soul. Don’t let her bullshit eat you alive day by day. She fucked up, too. It takes two to tango.

Her soul is trapped between life and Source. She is in the 9th dimension. As you well know, we only perceive four dimensions. She’s still out there, son. Just tell her you’re sorry for what you did and ask her to forgive you so you can forgive yourself. And don’t forget to be angry — no LIVID — that she cheated on your fine ass with three other men, looking them all in the eyes as she fucked them. But she chose you to re-enact her trauma. Do you really think a traumatized person can re-enact their trauma without repercussions the first five (or more) times? I don’t, because I happen to be a P.T.S.D. victim. I cannot touch myself because of my trauma. At all.

I’m fucking pissed at her that she’s come between us and our relationship. I hope she dies again in a fucking fire.

P.S. Don’t bother talking to me until you do forgive yourself for not being God. If there is a God, they’re not perfect. We’re made in their image and the one thing I know for certain is that not a single one of us shit stains is perfect. Perfection is a myth.


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