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I just told my mom I was gangraped during the war. Well, more I yelled it at her and then hung up the phone on her. Maybe not the best way to express that, but she was severely pissing me off. She kept saying, maybe it’s not from the war, maybe you’re just depressed because you’re not with J anymore. As if all the trauma I have experienced were nothing. As if I didn’t live through a war and have constant nightmares because of it now. As if this was all over some fucking boy. Maybe that's fucking why.
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