Because I don’t want to be another faceless, nameless number on someone’s list of victims. Jane Doe number 1,394. Another figure to account for. Another variable in how the settlement is broken up between other faceless, nameless numbers. Because I don’t want to be another victim something bad happened to. Another file. Another someone no one knows how to talk to. Another broken someone.

Because I don’t want the people at work to know me as that girl that thing happened to. That thing they had all been talking about when it was on the news. An untouchable now that they know. Because I don’t want to have to wonder if the reason it seems like the room just went quiet is because I walked into it. Because I don’t want my family and friends to ask me if I am ok, but secretly hope I will just say yes, because they don’t know how to talk to me anymore. Because I don’t want everyone holding their breath, waiting for something else to happen to me.

Because I don’t want this to be the first thing people see when they look at me. The something bad that happened to me. The victim. Because I don’t want to wonder what will happen when someone new finds out. Because I don’t want to answer the same questions all over again.

Because I am so very angry. Because I am so very lost. Because I don’t know who I am any more. Because I don’t want to be this part of me. Because you don’t get to choose which parts you keep.

Because this is mine, damnit, and not everyone else’s. Because I get to decide. Because if I didn’t get to choose then, I do now.