You're Never Quite Over It

I thought I was over this.
I thought I could forget, go on with a "normal" life, but I haven't, I can't. But I can't, can I? Whenever my mind is unguarded by other thoughts it pounces on me like a cat and an unsuspecting mouse.
I think i've moved on, but just one stray thought and I'm back there again like it was yesterday, in that awful place masquerading as schoolgirl innocence.
Sometimes I think I don't care about what happened to me, if only I could have saved you. Did you need it? Did I? Do you go about life without a care in the world, cast it off as barely-remembered indiscretion, or does it haunt you? Haunt you like it haunts me? If I heard it did, all my progress would be for naught and I would rid the world of my prescence. Should I have done so already?
My bruises healed years ago, a few days after, even, but not the ones here, in my head, where no one can see. Sitting silent whle the world goes on, not unmarred by my existence.
I know, I think I am pathetic. Like I was then, like I am now. I don't deserve this life and I'm silently screwing it up. Far worse things have happened to other, yet I can't, dare I type the fateful words, "get over it." Perhaps mother is right and I am weak and make everything a drama.
If you could tell me how you feel, maybe the drama would end. Either way.