Picking at the wound.

I do this occasionally. I get bold, proud of myself. I feel well. I know I can do it- so I google my ex.

Why the fuck do I do this, I hear you ask?! The bastard put you through hell! You were abused and raped and fucked with, to borrow Emilie Autumn’s words.

My answer to you lot is this: have you ever lost a wasp in a large room? You know it’s angry- maybe even livid – that you tried your best to swat it dead, and now it’s somewhere in the room with its stinger, plotting a horrible revenge as it clicks its wings on its hard carapace.

Now try losing your abuser in a big city close to you. Imagine how it feels to know that his parents are in the SAME city as you, and they adore him. They dote on him. He is their everything, and you left him. You bitch.

I do this to try and reassure myself I know that he isn’t staying with his parents down the fucking road from me, and that he is in the city nearby, plotting his revenge, because I STILL don’t believe he is done playing with me. I still have my Facebook on the highest privacy settings, I haven’t raised my head above the parapet, I have most certainly not shared my or his name here in case he finds this and he makes me pay. I deleted a lot of dance job profiles on the internet to stop him finding me, but I know my CV is out there and he knows where my parents live…

This is why I was googling the sorry fucker. I want to know I am safe, properly safe. That hard knot forms in my stomach and I gulp, and I wonder if he would ever dare come back to my house to try and hurt me or worse, persuade me back with him.

I frequently wake up in cold sweats. I’ve usually just dreamt about my ex, and in those dreams I’m never sure if I’m supposed to be with him or with J. I know I should be with J, but my ex is there and possibly holding me or kissing me or worse and I know I need J but my ex is telling me I need him. I hate those dreams. They mean that some part of my poor damaged subconscious is telling me I am cheating on my ex and I should be with him. Those dreams start me off on the worst of days a lot of the time.

I know that I am still a bit too obsessed and I know that my head would be better staying away from anything to do with him, but I also know that the wasp will stop hiding, aim at me with that stinger dripping with poison, and it will strike.

When it does, I want to be ready. I sure as hell won’t manage with a flyswat- I’ll need a fucking flamethrower.


2 comments on “Picking at the wound.

  1. sarahkreece says:

    I hear where you’re coming from! We all need to find ways to feel ready to deal with people like that. It sounds like looking him up half works and half makes you still feel trapped and stressed out, which sucks.

    • Thank you. I don’t quite know where it belongs in my head, but you’re right about how googling him makes me feel. I hate not being able to swat the wasp, as it were, or at least trap it in a jar! It is tough, knowing one day I could just walk into him on the street. x

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