Status update. I’m doing my best to let myself feel when I can and distract myself with joy and friendship when I can. Sometimes in the middle of conversations, I don’t realize it’s happened and there’s no reason why it does, but I start thinking about [rapist’s name] and [redacted] and whatever that stuff, and after a while I realize I haven’t been listening. I feel embarrassed and like a bad friend, but I also feel relieved that it starts to hit me. I’m still waiting for it to hit me as hard as I need it to to drill it in my head that this is all really happening. I don’t even have poems in me. I don’t know what there is to express. The days where I felt so frustrated that all I could write were poems about [rapist’s name] feel so long ago. I wish I could write those poems now. But I have nothing.