I've just been feeling so gross and awful about what happened, largely since I can't stop blaming myself. I know that what she did wasn't my fault, but I would still crawl into her bed every night. Sometimes she wouldn't even do anything. Just sit there and cry while I held her, she would cry about how fat and ugly she was, and that no one loved her, and I would tell her she wasn't, and that I loved her. Sometimes I wonder if it only started because of those sentiments. I know that she went through worse in her childhood, that it was the only way she could measure love, and that she believed she only gave me 'the good bits' of what hurt her. But I just can't quit thinking about it. It didn't even feel like abuse either, she loved me, and I think I might still love her. I think I might actually lose it soon.