Another Room to Survive

To the Court

I came here as a victim.

But somehow,

I was treated like the criminal.

I walked into this courtroom

carrying trauma, fear, and memories

I have spent so long trying to survive.

And instead of being heard,

my words were questioned.

Twisted.

Taken apart

until my truth sounded like a lie.

You asked me,

"Why can't you remember everything?"

Because trauma doesn't work that way.

It doesn't leave memories

in perfect order.

It leaves fragments.

A face.

A sound.

A feeling.

A moment I remember clearly,

and another my mind has buried

because it was too painful to hold.

My memory may be damaged by trauma,

but that doesn't make me a liar.

My silence doesn't make me guilty.

And not remembering every detail

doesn't mean it never happened.

I shouldn't have to be

the perfect victim

to deserve to be believed.

I shouldn't have to tell my story

without shaking.

I shouldn't have to remember

every second perfectly.

I shouldn't have to prove my pain

in a way that makes everyone else comfortable.

The lawyer twisted my words.

I tried to explain.

I tried to speak.

But every time I opened my mouth,

I felt like my voice was being taken away.

And that's what hurts the most.

I survived what happened to me,

only to feel like I had to defend myself

for surviving it.

So please—

listen to me.

Not just to the words

that come out perfectly.

Listen to the pauses.

The shaking.

The confusion.

The silence.

Because sometimes silence

isn't a lack of truth.

Sometimes silence

is what trauma leaves behind.

I am not the criminal.

I am the person who survived.

My voice may shake.

My memory may come in pieces.

But those pieces are still my truth.

I am not asking for pity.

I'm asking to be heard.

I'm asking to be seen

as a human being

who went through something

that changed her.

I survived the trauma.

Please don't make this courtroom

another trauma

I have to survive.