Hurt

The first time I was hurt, seriously hurt, I was in 5th grade. A girl in my class decided she didn't like me and no one was allowed to like me. I cried. I asked my friends why they didn't want to be friends with me. It blew over pretty quickly. But that was my first real taste of hurt.
The next time I was hurt, I was in the summer before 7th grade. My parents had stopped sleeping in the same room and I was caught in the middle of every fight, and every 3 am conversation my mom felt like having with her boyfriend (because for some reason my mom felt sleeping in my room was the best alternative). I found out how much of a coward my mother is the day my dad began showing us his new place and realized my mother had forgotten to mention they were getting a divorce. I can't pinpoint the moment when I figured out my mother had cheated on my father, but when I did I no longer saw her as a mother, only a monster.
At this point I began to hate my mother, my brother (who disagreed with the fact that I hated my mother), and myself.
The next time I got hurt was during this time where I hated myself. I was somewhere between 7th and 8th and I had a major crush on my brother's friend, who happened to also be my best friend's brother. I wanted to kiss him so bad. I never kissed him, but he taught me that I need to say no when I'm not ready for something.
After that I didn't let myself get close enough to anyone, friend or more, for a few years. Then along came my biggest hurt to date. I let someone in and it all fell apart. 2 years of love and then we fell apart. He knew of all my hurt and then he hurt me.
My next hurt came in the form of physical pain. I tore my ACL. I can say that it was the most agonizing pain physically and emotionally because I saw a dream slip away. And ever since then I've been working on getting it back. I fail and succeed and fail and yet I keep getting up.
Every one of these hurts I have lived through and pushed through. I have seen days where I no longer wanted to be the person who I was and I have seen days where I am so filled with joy I don't know how people aren't smacking me.
But then I had something happen that I have no clue how to move past. Its a kind of hurt that I can hide. Its the kind of hurt that people don't want to hear about because they don't want to imagine it happening. Its the kind of hurt that some people blame me for. Its the kind of hurt that I blame myself for.
The fact that I can't bring myself to write these words tells me that this is the kind of hurt that won't go away.
I was attacked.
I get immediately panicked when I write those words. I want to erase them.  I want to never read them or say them or think them again. I want to curl up in a ball and just sob.
But I can't.
Instead I must act as though it didn't happen. I must act as though I don't feel fear over powering me anytime that the sun goes down. I must pretend that I can confidently walk across campus or around the neighborhood without wondering if I'm being followed. I must seem confident and happy. I must do these things because if I don't then I am "playing the victim" or "being over dramatic" because it is "my fault". I have been forced to believe that I caused this. I have been forced to believe that it is not okay to talk about it. I have been forced to believe that I can't possibly still be hurting.

But hurt doesn't fade as quickly as it arises.