Nights like this…

Tonight I’m sleepless and trying to exorcise the demons in my head. J and I have just talked and I love love love the smooth, sweet drawl of his voice. That voice anchors me whilst I’m feeling strange.

I’ve been a little dissociative tonight. I’ve been at Saturday family tea- the whole clan, aunties, uncles, cousins- the lot. My auntie was babysitting her best friend’s daughter, who is a shining gem of a seven year old. She played with the puppy, a rare event- Juno puppy is not the world’s biggest fan of children, but this little girl is an old head on young shoulders. She let me read to her. She cuddled up with me and the puppy, her on my knee and the puppy beside me. I felt very safe, but somehow a little sad.

I think what’s triggered me a little is talking about my ex to her. My auntie was married to her abuser, and this little girl knows a highly edited version of that story. She calls him Naughty, so we all do too. We had gone upstairs in my nana’s house to see one of the many family portraits hanging on the walls, and she mentioned to me that she knew that Naughty was a bad guy because HIS smile was not a good smile. All the other people on the picture had big, happy, truthful smiles, she said. Only Naughty’s wasn’t right.

That really hit me hard. SHE could see, through our eyes, the flaw in him, the defect that ate at his core and caused such harm to my auntie that she ended up in hospital, too. She knew, this seven year old, that there was a man not to be trusted- and she could see that through his smile!

She asked why my auntie had even married him in the first place, so I explained that sometimes, the scariest baddies are the ones that pretend to be your best friend. I said that I had been with a naughty man, for six years.

The wise, innocent little face formed an expression I’ve mostly seen on adult faces: she was appreciating how hard that was for me.

“Whew,” she said, “that’s a long time.”

I said that yes, indeed it was, but he hadn’t started out bad. He’d pretended to be one of the good guys, and I had never seen the badness coming at all. He’d added the bad stuff in, bit by bit, until I didn’t know that he was all bad.

Looking at those feathery blonde brows rise in shock, I was struck with an intense desire to protect her. I would have jumped in front of a bullet for that child, and I still will. I would right now. I didn’t want that angelic creature to have to face what my auntie and I have faced- the sleepless nights thinking he is perfect and I am not, the agony inside as he breaks up with you and demands you back only for the cycle to repeat. I felt something tearing inside of me in my chest- my heart was trying to reach through my chest to keep her safe.

Talking to Dr K, my therapist, on Thursday may have stirred a lot up- I was trying to tell her about some of the things I’ve had to endure under him- but this has made me remember long nights waiting by the phone, worrying about ringing him in case it ‘wasn’t convenient right now’. I’d get yelled at if I didn’t ring at bang on ten pm. I feel like time is slipping backwards, like having a rug pulled out from under your feet. I remember the feeling in arguments, that bad feeling of ‘I’m losing you and it’s my fault and you knew I was going to say that, oh god why?!’

I’ve found a song that sums it all up. He never drove, but the car keys are symbolic. They are the keys to my heart, my freedom, my life. They are the things that drove me and the things he took control of, bit by bit. Those phonecalls I tried to make that he aborted with one stern word. The threats of all sorts, the demands, and finally go to sleep silly girl, we’re getting nowhere tonight. I would try not to get too upset but tears inevitably burned my cheeks, that acid tang, and the feeling of being about to throw up came when he called me pathetic. I was trying so hard. I was. I promise I’m trying so hard to be different and more like the girl you wanted me to be, the girl I was when you met me. I promise I won’t go to anyone with my problems, definitely not you, I’ll solve them myself. I know I’m weak and need to stop being such a little girl I promise I won’t do this again I swear I’m not going to hurt you I didn’t mean to oh god don’t say that to me I’m not like that I swear I’m not-

The loop plays on and on, and I drown it out with other things. But, in the background, it’s always there, along with his replies.

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Programme? Change the channel.

The fight against programming is a hard one and it continues daily. Every day, I have to remind myself that it’s ok to talk about how bad I am feeling, or how good I am feeling. I have to tell myself that people want to hear that I am ok and living life well, or not doing great and really need a hand up or a friendly listening ear.

The reason?

My ex hated me being happy. He hated it. He would pick holes in me when I had a good mood, and leave it deflating like a sad old helium balloon. He would get angry with me for crying or getting upset, and would claim that I was being overdramatic, emotionally blackmailing towards him. In the beginning of the relationship, he used to ask me to tell him any of my problems and he would try and help me work through them. After a short while, he changed his tune completely and told me I wasn’t supposed to go to him with my problems, oh no. Why was I so selfish? They were my problem, not his, and I should have known how to fix them all by now.

This is why I feel like I can’t speak to anyone sometimes. I feel stuck and alienated, alone in a world where people speak their mind with a big strip of gaffer tape plastered to my mouth.

It gets hard when I want to tell J about the state of my head, because he is my boyfriend and I truly L word him. Worse, my ex stole those three little words that mean so much and warped them so badly, I now can’t tell J how I really feel. I think he knows but I just can’t be sure til I tell him.

Programming from my ex has really done a number on me. I get so tired of fighting it.

Scar pain, and contentedness.

I’m not sure if this is possible, but my left arm has been hurting all day- more specifically, my scars have been hurting all day. Is it possible for phantom pain to occur in scars?

My head is full of emotional scars, too. I’m not doing too badly at all today, but I am beginning to feel nervous again for therapy.

I also managed to stand up for myself again on Facebook- someone decided to call suicide weak. I had to tell them it isn’t weak- it is something that happens when life is too much.

Weirdly enough, I’m content today. I have a sleeping puppy on my knee, and a sense that maybe, hopefully, things may eventually be ok.

  1. I like this feeling. I want it to stay.

 

 

Hello insomnia, I fucking detest you.

Partially this is my fault, I think, buy also I’m not sure if it is. I am awake because I was reading the courageous posts on Project Unbreakable, but that has two effects on me. I feel supported to start with, and usually disgusted at what some really evil people have done, but today I am triggered as fuck and hating it.

I remember every fucking word. I will always remember. I remember that stupid “I am a rapist” joke, which wasn’t a joke, because it was scary and not funny. I remember dissociating- the lush rainforest would appear and I would be there, away from pain and hurt. I even remember the barbed comments made about how you liked my “love handles” and how you didn’t like it if I wore jeans that colour, or if I wore that eyeshadow…

I feel disgusting too. I want to scrub myself clean until all this has gone for good. My skin is trying to crawl off my bones in loathing…

I will always remember, even though I never want to remember again. Always.

Really, it’s a good job I’ve stopped lying to myself.

There is a part of me that’s laughing at me right now. It knew the happiness and calmness of the past few months wouldn’t last, and it knew that my depression was coming back no matter what I did. The few bad days I’ve been having have been little warnings to let me know that no, not everything is ok, and yes, the problem is you and it will not go away.

I am tired. I slept badly last night, plagued by nightmares. I didn’t want to drop off because I knew what was coming- the moment when you wake up and wonder what the fuck is the point. Of course, there are things I am trying to live for but I know now it’s only a matter of time til I make a mess of them all again and my illness starts to take over again, like it is already trying to do.

I am fighting the dark passenger again, and this time in some ways it’s worse. I don’t have the same grace I used to with my family or J- I know I must seem better to them and I am not going to keep on whining. I am not making them worried again. They all have enough to worry about.

I’m just wondering this time round how long it will take me to get back to the hole I was at the bottom of in May or August.

My birthday is tomorrow. I couldn’t care less. I have my first therapy session tomorow and I am positive that the psychologist with tell me that she can’t deal with my fucking whining and put me back in the system, ostensibly to “find me better help”. I know the truth.

The truth is that PTSD is wreckng my life and I can do nothing about it any more.

TW: PTSD dreams suck.

I just woke up from yet another dream where I’m worthless and violated as those pictures I posted the other day. I’m curled up on the couch at the moment, desperately trying not to fall asleep again. I don’t want the dream coming back.

It was him but he was pretending he saw nothing wrong in the things he’d just done to me, and I wasn’t supposed to “put this on” him. How can I not!!?? He wasn’t listening again, deaf to me and my protests. Deaf to my tears and my pain.

This morning I really want J, ironically enough. I want him here for a hug, and to let me know it will all be ok, baby. I miss being able to wake up and know he is there, just in case something bad is happening in the prison of my mind. Right now he is hopefully sleeping, so I can’t just pick up the phone. I did drop him a quick message, but he hasn’t answered, seeing as it’s late where he is.

I am so tired. I just want to sleep. That’s all I want. Can some part of my life not be tainted with this horror!?