But this seems worse. I am aware to some extent about what is going on. About what is being done to me.

But I'm not sure if hating it is the right thing to do.

I could be exagerrating my pain. I could be overreacting over nothing. I am weak if I can't silence my voice over this.

To complain is in vain. Since there are many others being dirtied far worse than I. Is it not me being ungrateful if I can't take this gracefully. Is it not an insult to the worse-fated if I cry now.

Maybe I want the comfort, to be seen, to be heard. 
Someone to acknowledge my pain.

But every ounce of comfort I find is dipped, marinated and dripping with my own guilt.

And so here I remain, silent. 
Silenced by my self-loathing, my own guilt, my own fear.

A worthless doll forever with nothing to say.