The questions were not of the average need to know to make a solid case, but rather an attempt at breaking what was left of my spirit. They were invasive and unprofessional. “Why didn’t you tell someone?” “Why did you wait so long to report?” “Are you sure you’re not just mad at him for something?” “Can you give me a specific date and time that the accused supposedly abused you?” “How about a detail or physical characteristic that only you would be able to describe?” That man was unbelievable, he had the gall asking! “No, I can’t tell you why or how or what!” I snorted. He asked, “why not?” “Because I was ten fucking years old! “How do you trust anyone after being told that they will burn in hell for disobeying adults!?” “And you’re damn right I’m mad, I am fucking furious, outraged, enraged, at this circus and you monkeys!” “You have the audacity to sit here looking down at me with your condescending questions and snide comments, all the while, sleeping like a baby knowing you are the defender of the scum of the earth!”  I tried, I tried to be professional and not give them any reason to doubt me. I am not built that way; I am not meant to be quiet. I am loud, proud, and ready to defend myself knowing I did nothing wrong. That was the moment I forgot who I was. I was completely overtaken by the need for revenge. Hatred and fear grew like wildfire.