One of the "Lucky" Ones

Updated: Mar 12, 2020

You think you are prepared. Know exactly what you would do, how you would do it, How you would feel, what to say... all until it happens to you.


TRIGGER WARNING: contains sensitive material pertaining to sexual assault, physical assault, thoughts of suicide and mental health.

(Listen with headphones for a better experience :3)

It took one sentence, a few simple words, an assumption that completely shattered the mask I wore. The mask that has lost its pieces but was held back together with tape and glue. A mask that was already at its ends. Broken, not all at once, but fell gradually... piece by piece.

I was shooting a show that brought together those who felt different from “normal” society where they can truly be themselves. An event with zero judgement, yet here I was faced with a presumption about my own life. This stranger spoke nonchalantly about depression, suicide, anxiety, almost normalizing it as if it were no big deal. This isn’t normal. Do people really just randomly speak this way in a venue? They asked what drugs I take and I was confused. He continued to list the prescription medications he consumes and I now understood what he was asking. I answered with "none..." and that's when he said the line that changed everything.

“Wow. So you’re one of the lucky ones. Must be

n

i

c

e.”

.

.

.

Are you kidding me...

That short conversation didn’t sit well with me. I have heard and experienced worse situations that don’t come remotely close to something as small as this, yet I couldn’t ignore it and move on like I have. Then it dawned on me… no one really knows me. The real me. My struggles. My triumphs. My story. All people know is the online presence known as “eevee” who loves to take pictures, going to shows, watching anime and is always smiling. My mask was all everyone knew. It's the only thing I let them see. Only very few saw what was underneath. Such a rare sight. My mask was my comfort but it made me feel alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore.


Don’t worry, she learned to turn this bad luck to good.


Here is my lucky story.


"I'm okay!"

"I'm fine!"

"It's okay!" "No biggy!"

"I'll be okay!" "haha"


"I'm just a little tired." "I'm busy, i'll talk to

"I'll get over it." you later."

"Nothing."

"Nothing is wrong!"

"lol"

":)"

"..."

My first boyfriend broke up with me because I was awkward. I was fifteen. He was my first with that foreign label(title?). He’s dated someone before, he’s had a girlfriend. Another foreign label. I never kissed a boy. This was my first. Just a small simple peck to him, but to me, it felt like rainbows and butterflies. Didn't seem like he enjoyed it, he's had better. I'm sorry it wasn't up to par with the last. It seems childish, but this naive child believed in sweet magic, fairy tales and happy endings. The hopeless romantic gets a taste of bitter reality.


*snap* The mask is on.


In high school, I dated a dude for three days. Three days. 3 days. Let that sink in a little. I broke up with him because he made me feel extremely uncomfortable. Touching me inappropriately in public spaces, in front of others as if the chances of getting caught gave him even more thrill.

"no!"

"stop!"

"seriously!"

"I don't like it!"

"stop, please..."

That was the first time I have ever been touched.

*crackling sound* Cracks appear on the mask. ˢᵐᵃˡˡ but visible.

Although it was terrible, I was proud of myself for not hesitating and getting out of it the moment I knew something wasn't right. He would cry when he saw me around school and my peers would all tell me I broke his heart. It was a very small school so I heard it constantly but it didn't faze me a single bit. Instead I was more confused and laughed because... remember those three days? Yeah that's why. Dude it was only... sigh... you get the point. I never really mentioned what he did to anyone besides my best friend at the time because he was out of my life and just a

perverted schoolmate.

Or so I thought.

The school was having an assembly. Students, teachers, and other faculty gathered into our cramped, office looking “auditorium” filled with chairs. I took my seat and out of all the students in the room… you guessed it. The 3-day ex just plops down with the most mischievous smile I have ever witnessed. I wanted to immediately get up and move but the assembly had started. Great. While the guest speakers were presenting, I felt something slowly travelling up my thigh and when I glanced over it was his hand. Wha-- My body just froze. This can't be happening.

He reached his destination and I jumped but not enough. I didn't want to make a scene. I didn't know what to do other than keep scooting in the opposite direction till I was shoulder deep with my neighbor. He noticed what was happening and reached towards the 3-day ex's hands, holding them, joking around to also not make a huge scene but still stopped the nightmare. A few moments later it was an intermission. Before the next half began, I moved seats to sit with my friends and they noticed I was shaking and asked what was wrong. I told them what happened and I started to cry. They comforted me and gave disgust glances at the 3-day ex. That was it. No one told a teacher. No one really did anything. I didn't do anything either. I could have saved myself and yet I yearned to be saved. No one saved

me. It must not be important. I chose to forget about it and move on. I don't matter.


*snap!* the first pieces of the masʞ begin to fall. I’ll be okay.


Dear Mr. "I made a mistake,”

Thought you were sweet

One of the good ones.

stuck between something old and something new

you chose me