So I know I’ve blogged about this memory that I remembered, but I haven’t actually written about what it is yet. I would just like to say that these memories are pretty graphic and may be triggering. I apologise in advance.
This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever written. It needs to be said though, because I cannot deal with this.
So, I was writing in my journal on Monday. I was trying to avoid cutting, as my mood was through the floor and I needed a distraction. I woke up in a panicky mood, and as I was writing my mind wandered onto the darkest year I spent with my ex boyfriend.
I’d had problems with my depression that year. My stability had gone- I was no longer in ballet school, I was responsible for my own training. I was only rich enough to afford meals and classes, so usually something had to give. Often, it was ballet class.
My ex pressurised me into a lot of things. He pressurised me into being with him in the first place. He pressurised me into blowing my parents off for meals out, and into not talking to them. He pressurised me into getting a “normal” job- working every night as a bartender.
I was exhausted, unable to self-harm to take any of the pressure away, and I was giving up inside once again. I’d had enough of pursuing a broken dream that was making my parents spend a huge amount of money, and I was tired of him calling me selfish each time I went for another audition.
This was all there, each time I remembered that awful year. The problem, and the frightening bits, were the gaps.
There were some gaps in my memory. Things I couldn’t remember, things that were scrambled and mixed up, like trying to tune an old-school TV to a channel that was just out of reach. I used to think about that year, skip those scrambled parts, and just move on.
On Monday, all the bad things I have in loops in my head were bouncing around without reprieve. The loop I couldn’t escape was what the hell happened to me in all those scrambled moments?
This part is going to be the hardest thing I have ever had to write.
We’d always been a couple that argued like hells bells, and made up with sex. He never apologised for causing me to cry, and I always had to make it up to him in whatever way I could. When I was eighteen, we were messing about in the bedroom, and he ended up completely humiliating me. I was in floods of tears and so upset I could barely breathe, and it took him a long time to see that I was upset. I already knew about that, and I could remember every horrible detail. I think that may have been the only time he said sorry to me.
This memory I had was different.
It was split in two. I had a clear memory of him pinning me to the bed, and what starting as a joke getting very uncomfortable for me. The other part of the memory was of sex that hurt, and me asking him to stop, which he didn’t.
Meshing these two parts of one memory together was the worst thing I’ve faced in a long while. I was screaming. I was sobbing. I was yelling no.
I felt sick with disbelief. The horrible word floated in front of my eyes.
After all the emotional abuse, after the constants put-downs and the disbelief in myself and the separation from my parents… I thought I had at least that. Apparently, I’m that worthless that just emotional and mental abuse, coupled with the one time he hit me, was not enough. He had to rape me as well.
There. I wrote it.
I have been raped.
This is what haunts me. This is what has driven me back to the knife after nearly six days clean, and killed my last butterfly.
How can I live with this now? I feel dirty. I feel ashamed. I feel like a million baths won’t cleanse me of his touch, like the taint of his hands are smeared underneath my skin like tattoos. I hate how all I can think about at the minute is how it happened, and that I was pretty much abused by him in every way.
Do I have that little worth that I can be used, manipulated, and then tossed aside?
If anyone has any advice to give me, now would be the time. I am falling apart.
Please help me.