Today there was a sudden shift in my head. The dark passenger was there this morning, but I threw myself into the day despite having four hours or so of proper deep sleep, and I wanted to be normal, for gods’ sake, for one fucking day.
I have managed it. I didn’t cut myself last night. I rang my mum, and I woke my dad up and sat until the unholy cacophony in my head faded to spiteful whispers.
Today I am wondering if I dreamt that despair. I know that it happened, but how I feel right now is so different to how I was late last night that I am confused, left reeling from the emotions that have ripped through my body and soul and left my mind raw.
No. I didn’t dream it. I lived it. I am exhausted beyond belief but wide awake and my brain buzzes with pent-up thoughts. I wrote in my journal last night that I wanted them to shut up. They don’t do that, my voices. They sleep, go dormant for a short while, and attack me whenever they please.
I’m sorry for the rambling nature of this post, but I feel that I have a long two weeks to wait for my next appointment with the psychologist, and I need to get down some of the stuff that is writhing around in my head.
I wonder if I will ever truly feel like he is not watching me- my ex, I mean. That terror last night when I thought I’d seen him pinned me like a butterfly to a card in a museum. I was crippled by it- my legs locked, I shook, my teeth chattered involuntarily. Why do I constantly feel like I can see him where ever I go?
I look out for the distinctive shape of his hair, the broad back, the walk I grew to know so well. I look for certain coats and flinch away from any man who wears them. I despise certain hand movements and turns of phrase, and I will not say certain terms of endearment or phrases I said to him to J, because I want what he and I now have to remain as untouched as it is. I hate it when I think I have seen him. I hate walking down certain roads because I see him in my mind’s eye, walking down the road to come and get me and make me stay at his house and feel like an optional extra, the cheap tart allowed to stay over for as long as he wanted because it would placate their precious son.
I only ever felt like a whore with him. I only ever felt like a spare part. I only ever felt worthless.
So when I told J about what I felt for the first time, he told me that I was “absolutely not a whore”, and that he would never do anything like that. Today, he told me he wanted to be there for me. I have never had that said to me before.
I feel still in danger of cutting, but I am wearing a band 24/7 so I can fight the urge head on. I had heard somewhere that getting through the first few months of quitting an addiction could be hell, but I didn’t fully understand because couldn’t find the strength to quit for long enough. Now I truly get it- I find myself pacing and talking to the voices and myself and shaking and wishing that I had never given up in the first place. Without cutting, my emotions are a huge mess, all over the twisted landscape of the inside of my brain. I need something to control them.
I am saving all the money I have to go and see J. I feel like I can be myself with him- he saw the girl behind the pain and wanted to be with her anyway.
Soon, I will be with him, and the voices will be silent, because they are the minute he speaks. Until then, I will keep trying to fight them, and I will keep trying to defeat the memories that haunt me.