itch.io

This game.
I don't even know what to say.
I'm still coming out of my own dissociation, but it's ok if I don't know what to say because there are no words that can describe how impactful this game is. 

I'm not even trans, I'm a young early 20s cis guy. 
But this hit. It hit really hard.

[A note to the creator of the game, in case you don't read my entire ramblings because I wouldn't blame you. I didn't expect to run through my trauma like that.

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for the game. For the experience. It's not about me, not for me, but it helped me. I hope making it helped/helps you too. Thank you for everything, and that's not a thanks you have to accept. I don't want to put that pressure on you. 

It's a great game, and I'm cheering you on.
You are a person and that's more than enough for me.

For some, it's not easy being a person, but you most certainly are.
I won't say you're a good person, nor a bad person. That's for you to decide for yourself on your own terms, but I will say, you are a person, and that's beautiful.]



[Trigger Warning and Spoilers Past this Point]
When I got to the inbox sections, I stopped and shared with everyone I know I could share it with, including a bunch of trigger warnings and what not but I felt like I needed to share. It wasn't my story, but at parts, it felt like it was. That's terrifying. 

I paused the 2nd time at the stairs.
Those stairs.
Door unlocked.
Quiet Empty Apartment.
Way too clean.
Way more expensive than my family could afford.
Darkness, but just enough to see.

I won't go any further than that. 
But...
I was 17 then for 2 more months.
I still held onto the concept of virginity.
I'd been catfished on Facebook, and I knew the warning signs, but it was 1-2 AM and I wasn't being rational.
I don't even think I was that horny.
They paid for my Uber.
The driver was really nice.
When they drove me back I'd imagined the silly idea of the one cab driver who picks you up all the time and becomes a friend who can get you where you need to go. "I'm Johnny on the spot" like in GTA V.
I never saw them again.
I stopped responding on Facebook days later.
When I got home I had the audacity to tell my Mother nothing and that everything was ok; she was there when I left. She was worried but she trusted me. 
My Mom works really early in the morning.
I went to sleep for as long as I could before school the next day.
Just like in the game.
I didn't feel traumatized.
I didn't feel like anything changed, just another school day.
I didn't tell anyone I'd 'lost my virginity'
I didn't. I kept it close to me and I never let go it was MINE.
I remained a virgin until my 22nd birthday. 
And yet it wasn't as awkward as most first time stories, because it wasn't.
Not really.
Those stairs.
That dark room.
I didn't feel any pleasure.
I was frustrated because it.
Maybe there was a little, but it wasn't for me.
I never really saw them, it was too dark.
That was the point right?  
I was confused, dazed, and lost.
When they called themself the F word, not one I was familiar with.
I don't know if I knew then, or not. 
I feel like I should have, but I don't think I knew they weren't AFAB until my suspicions caught up to me, but at the same time I very well could have known and ignored.
I didn't know I was pansexual for two more years, polyamorous even
But back then, I was confused.
And then #MeToo happened. 
When I learned that consent can be taken BACK.
That the thing I agreed to was not what I agreed to, that it wasn't a choice I had made, no I made a different choice, and I got the wrong order.
13 Reasons Why happened, season 2 happened Tyler happened.
That scene where he stood up, other men and boys stood up alongside the women happened.
Where I wanted to stand too.
Where I was confused and said hurtful things to two close friends who'd had yet to come out to me, and I wouldn't blame them. 
When I'd finally revealed the details of what happened to me and they told me that when I'd mentioned it before, that they thought I had made it up. 
I don't even know why I would have, but it struck me.
I'm not the only one dealing with stuff that makes it hard to deal with others own 'stuff'.
My best friend in the 2 short years I went to college for free, took me to go pet cats at a shelter/animal therapy place across the highway next to campus after a Mental Health confession board was but up in the middle of the café and I had for the first time in three years; dissociation from that event, that's when I first accepted that I had PTSD.
Now, I'm ok.
It still haunts me, but it doesn't scare me.
It's not something I can't think about, even if uncomfortable.
Though, I still worry about not saying anything. 
That I let a predator go, that other people could be hurt the same way I had because I didn't speak up. 
I still haven't told my Mother, how could I?
My Mother is the sweetest, kindest, and most caring person on this planet and I know she's working through her own Trauma, for her to know, to tell her, would be me intentionally hurting her because I know it would hurt her. 
Forbidden knowledge that hurts those who knows it, then do not speak if you wish to protect the one's you care most about... Right?
I barely mentioned it to my girlfriend because I love her so much.
My sister knows I have some sort of trauma, and she has hers.
She respects me, and I return that in full even if never discussed aloud.
I think, I've said everything I needed to,
Thank you.