I stopped talking about it.

I stopped talking about it because people grew upset, people felt uncomfortable, people didn’t understand.

I stopped talking about it because my stepfather purchased an expired domain name of mine through his work’s account before later transferring it to his own account and information, then published an informal and unofficial cease and desist letter shortly after I wrote about cease and desist letters in a post on my blog regarding AVON’s debt collectors calling and harassing me with threats, attempting to pass it off as a post published the previous day when, unfortunately for him, WordPress’ RSS feeds show the original date something was published.

I stopped talking about it because I apparently stirred up everything.

“It”.

“It”, as in mental illness, what happened to me as a child. It’s my story. Specific names are not mentioned.

“It”.

I’m going to start talking about “it” again.

Talking about “it” keeps me from going crazy, helps me find others who have went through what I have…

I’ve learned there is so much victim shaming, and it’s ridiculous.

“It”.

And I’m going to start writing again.

Why should I have to keep quiet for something that isn’t even my fault?

I’m not ashamed. This makes me me. What happened to me, what I have, what I feel — it all makes me me, and I will not hush.