Lonely. Painfully lonely. World vs me. There is so much going on that I’m not allowed to write/talk about. I feel suffocated and distant. A hot knife repeatedly plunges into my heart. I am neither dead nor alive.
I took my girls to the cinema today. In a bid to connect with them and show them that I was a normal, caring mother – or show myself. I bought them popcorn. I smiled, I touched their faces. My care and adoration for them is genuine. But my heart is so heavy. I couldn’t focus on the movie. I felt steel cold claws gripping me. Reality. Pain. Restlessness.
Then grocery shopping – robotic. Girls picking eggs excitedly.
I feel nothing.
My husband and I are going through paperwork, there’s stuff – the stuff I can’t talk about. I’m on edge. I’m weary. I’m tearful. I realise again how alone again.
No one understands.
There is such an enormity in that one sentence. If you break a bone, and another hasn’t it’s hard to explain the pain but there are examples. You could find a way to explain to the immediate pain and the healing pain. And you could have that conversation in the middle of just about anywhere. In fact often when the weather changes people refer to old injuries playing up.
But can anyone understand the pain of rape? To be violated? To be used? To be hurt so violently and so intimately? The things that were said and done? To relive that trauma? To describe that pain? To describe feeling that pain years after the event? The nightmares in which it feels so real? The flashbacks where you feel like you’re there? Times of the year where it’s harder? Being asked questions that make you relive those very moments? A conversation that can barely take place anywhere. A conversation barely anyone wants to hear.
I feel alone. My body hurts. My head hurts. I don’t want noise, I don’t want memories, I don’t want to feel or think. When my husband shouts it triggers me, he doesn’t understand. I know he tries but he doesn’t understand how hard this is for me. He wasn’t there. It’s never happened to him, it’s not a broken bone, it’s a raw wound.
I try everyday to get up and be mother, wife, person, but don’t look too closely, you’ll see all my bones are broken and my soul weeps to be heard.