I’ve hardly slept. When I have it’s not been ‘real’ sleep. I’ve heard the bedroom door rattle. I’ve heard voices. None of it probably real. Half flashbacks i think. I am close to panic but fall back into an exhausted sleep.
I had an email from England. Everything is kicking off from August 3rd.
Not the anticipated September.
Not that much difference, much somehow a shock. I received court notes from the Friday. His name. The court wait time. The time in court.
Around 4am I saw his face. A clear image of back then. A picture perfect image. As though I was facing him. The image so cold and terrifying brought me fast awake. A panic attack brewing. But too close to the kids wake time to take diazepam and with little and poor sleep I would be too out of it to get them organised for school.
I bring my breathing back, and instead I smoke. I’m so tired my eyes aches and feel so heavy. My brain feels sluggish. Tears want to fall but I’m exhausted to the very core.
Yesterday I was consumed with my failings and how different I had become. That seems so irrelevant now.
My focus is on surviving. On getting through.
I have many bad nights, but this one feels worse. He is with me now. And my strength is questionable.
I emailed my lawyer more questions and at the barristers request more personal information. Laid bare my personal information again. I am exposed for so many to see, to pick over, to eat up and spit out what they deem relevant and irrelevant.
My husband sleeps soundly next to me. Oblivious to my turmoil as he does most nights. I could wake him but something stops me. The knowledge that he won’t truly understand. That he will offer a few obligatory ‘feel good’ remarks, but come later tomorrow will no doubt ask why I’m moody or seem down – as though I should have snapped back from the news.
I have fought tirelessly for justice and to be heard. That was all I ever wanted. The chance to tell my story in court. What will be after that will be. After all these years I need some closure. And what he did was wrong.
But I’m lying here in the early hours, in the still, before everyone gets up and I wonder how I will ever get through this? I’m no warrior, no crusader, no war hero. I rely on anti depressants, I suffer anxiety and panic attacks. I don’t sleep well and the nightmares are often debilitating – even for a grown woman.
I’m tired, I’m so sad, and I’m scared of my past. Scared of him. I hate the way he makes me feel, back to them. His weight on top of me, the disgusting things he did to me, his voice, his frozen eyes.
I feel dread.
Some people say the past is best left in the past. But I feel I’m in this horrible situation where I have no choice. Either option is going to be fucking awful.
Peace is something that I just can’t imagine right now.