Dread.

This morning, we must endure an annual gynocological exam. We haven't done this for quite awhile, but the sister was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and she is only twenty-one years old. It is now a matter of safety and health, rather than a desire to forego flashbacks.

The fact of the matter is, I am little more than irate. Perhaps I am selfish. I know that the moment the doctor steps into the room, no one will want to deal with any flashbacks of abuse that might occur, and it will be up to me to step in and take it. I spent years doing that. Aren't I allowed any reprieve?

At times I wish that someone else would offer to take my place, to relive these memories. Yet no one does. It is my duty, you see. And one cannot shirk in one's responsibilities. I do what I must in any way necessary to perform to the utmost of my ability, and I take great pride in that.

However, rape is never a jolly experience, and no matter how many times I recall, or how stoic I may seem in speaking of it, it still affects me. My experiences were just as brutal.