** This is story has a trigger warning for sexual abuse so if that's a trigger for you, please don't read it!

Identifying my emotions is difficult. I have to break it down into three parts; what are my thoughts? How is my body reacting? What is my behavior? But I wouldn't have known the steps to feel/ accept my emotions if it wasn't that I went to get help.

I don't consider myself as someone who had a wonderful and playful childhood. In fact, I don't think I had the chance to be a normal kid. Most of my memories are locked. A certain part of my brain just won't allow me to remember. But I do know what happened. I know how it started and how it ended; it's the middle that it's a black hole. I was sexually abused for a couple of years by my neighbor.

At one point, I learned how to dissociate. But now, my body/my thoughts immediately think "I'm in danger," even when I'm with people who I care about. It's a battle. PTSD feels like a war and it's you against your past; to be more specific, it's you against the person that was created during the event in order to survive.

I didn't feel much after the event. Every time I felt even a mild discomfort, I automatically dissociate. Essentially, it means that I would get numb, and I would start to see everything around me in third person instead of first. It's the main reason why I mostly write in third point of view; that's how I basically have seen my life in the past couple of years until recently.

At one point, all of my emotions and discomfort accumulated and my body felt heavy, I couldn't focus on school work, it was so bad, my thoughts were becoming terrible. I told myself to get help. And I did. I remember that I sat down on the couch and she started speaking to me, introducing herself, and I'm not sure what triggered it. I really don't but it was my first time in many years that I broke down crying; I sobbed. I think it might have been because I made a step to get help, but who knows. All I know, I spent the rest of that one meeting simply crying.

I was 15 back then. And I was abused from ages 8 to 12.

When the whole process actually started, I fell into a depression

Strangely, I had to get help to identify it.

I didn't know I was depressed, nor that I developed anxiety, nor that I had Severe PTSD, nor that I had two forms of Dissociation.

My path for each of my problem is a little bit different, but I will focus on depression. It got bad that I was under medication. And because I was still learning how to identify my feelings and accept them instead of blocking them, it was my body that took the toll of depression at first. My body felt heavy, and I was sleepy most of the time yet I couldn't sleep (I got insomnia too). When I learned to accept my feelings, I cried a lot at night. I felt like I was suffocating. And ironically, I was told I had to feel it. I had to accept it. She said PTSD could be healed but you have to face it little by little. I accepted that I had depression and I accepted that I had to feel my emotions. I accepted that no matter how many times I scrubbed my skin, nothing will change. I was innocent yet I wasn't. I was only 17 when I accepted I couldn't change anything but the present and the future.

But I wasn't alone. In fact, I had my family. I told them what happened to me around when I was about to turn 17. It was my very first time seeing both of my parents and my brother break down crying and apologizing to me. At first, though my mom tried to blame me for not telling her sooner but my therapist talked to her privately. Ever since then, my mom listens to me without judgment. The three of them told me to keep strong, and that they will be with me on each part of the process.

They weren't the only ones there for me. I took writing seriously around that age but I wasn't good enough. However, writing became my safe place. An English teacher mentored me. He doesn't know as of the date that he was one of the people who saved me. From ages 16 to 20 he thought me everything I know about writing. We studied language together, Shakespeare, so many pieces of literary work. Going to his classroom and staying four hours there (he never kicked me out) meant so much to me. When I turned 19, he introduced me to business. It's really because of him that I'm majoring in International Business and English.

I wasn't alone.

But I had to speak. I had to push myself to get help. Depression was terrible. It put me down so many times. But I stood up each and every time because I realized, on the second day that of meeting my therapist, that I wanted to live: I wanted to dress pretty, I wanted to get a boyfriend, I wanted to this war to end.

I still have PTSD.

I still have depression from time to time.

My anxiety is chronic.

I now have migraines.

My dissociation is still there. From time to time, my insomnia will hit me.

But now, I work for a literacy magazine of my college. I was chief Editor then chief of Finance before I stepped down to balance my life better, and now I run a Creative Writing Program and teach creative writing.

I am an English tutor.

I am a writer.

I even have a boyfriend now. He knows what happened to me. And he has been so patient and understanding.

That's who I am now. And despite that I carry the scars from my past, my problems haven't gotten away, my war hasn't ended yet, I learned that I am strong. I just get up every day. I challenge myself every day. I have dreams and I want to accomplish them. I can't lose this war. I can't. I can lose some battles but not this war. So I will keep on writing, I will keep going to my therapist, and I keep being grateful to that English teacher. And I will keep on living because now I have more control over it than I had in the past.