The trouble with supression

The trouble with suppression is that I have buried certain things so down I almost forgot they were there.  So a trigger of sorts happened to me recently.  Being compared to something delicate.  Why was I resisting the idea of this description? I couldn't see it.  Until I could.  And last night was the first time I felt the whoosh of what that means.  I am frightened about anyone knowing they have the power to crush me.  To break me into pieces.  I often wondered why I didn't surrender to the idea of what a victim means or delicate flower back then.  It's because if I did...I might surrender to the statistic, the depression of it all.  And I was going to seek revenge by living my life to the fullest! My anger would be through the many times I would jump into a situation I found as discomfort and waited for the adventure.  Whether it was good or bad.  I was going to experience life.  Victim. I said it.  I am a rape victim.  His name is Javier Gonzales and he was my boyfriend.  Someone I was supposed to trust.  Along with that he constantly told me I was stupid.  I was worthless.  That he was the best I could ever do.  That there wasn't anything particularly special about me.  I was ditzy. I was off.  Over and over I heard these things.  I believed him.  Long after I broke up with him.  I lied to his face and said I didn't love him anymore to escape.  Because I was afraid one day if I stayed I might take some pills and kill myself.  That's why I left.  And then a beautiful friend Rickard who turned romantic showed me compassion and love that not every man was a shit head.  Javier isolated me with my thoughts and my family and friends sometimes.  And I felt like a guilty girlfriend and eventually wife.  I married him.  I married him because in my mind if he was doing that it wouldn't feel dirty because we were married.  So when you have a beautiful friend telling you over and over how special and worthy you are you try to believe them.  You want to believe they are saying something true.  But you are so frightened to let all the pain and "victim" out.  Because I am a strong cookie.  Because I have such an armor and I don't show how vulnerable I can.  Because I am frightened to show that side.  That I might not recover from that rabbit hole.  That I have my epilepsy to consider.  That I might have some kind of episode if I let myself feel every part of the pain.  That I might actually not suppress the memory and remember the rape.  I suppressed the memory so long all I remember is the trigger of the rape. I only get to remember parts of it.  Like the freezing part. The part I said no twice  but turned my head to the right.  The part where I was crying through it.  The part where I bled because it was my first time.  The part where he said I needed to have something over Josh. The part of being a slut because another man showed me love and compassion and it turned romantic or let him touch me.  The part where he humiliated my friend.  The part where my friend said we couldn't be friends anymore and it broke me.  The part where he got a girl pregnant and that was why he told me he cheated (for the 10,000th time) The part where stupid stupid me would have been better off shutting my mouth.  The part where I fight with myself that the rape was the best thing to happened to me because I escaped him.  Because I left that monster.  I had the guts to leave this monster.  That with my smiles and affection and sparkle that I scream inside crying because I fight with myself everyday to believe that I am a beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman who is worthy of unimaginable love.  That I have people that adore me.  Beautiful people that adore me because I am worth it.  God, I hope I don't have a seizure....
Intellectually...I see this someway else.  Emotionally...emotionally doesn't have rationale.
It's nice to have a voice that grounds me.  Sighs.  I need to come out of the rabbit hole of crazy.