It happened again yesterday. I dragged myself out of bed finally late afternoon. Went to the shops. A route I know so well. Bought what I needed, started the route home (driving) and I don’t know what happened. I suddenly looked up and I was going in completely the wrong direction.
Had I checked roundabouts? Pedestrian crossings? Red lights? I had no idea. I didn’t even know where I was heading. The route leads to nowhere in particular. I can only hope that in that state I was still driving aware of other people, other road users.
Am I losing my mind? Am I breaking down?
I didn’t want to call my husband. I wanted to get home. I felt ashamed, embarrassed.
I’d missed my therapy session. Talking seems pointless now. Going over the same stuff. Nothing changes.
I felt utterly exhausted at home, I cried myself to sleep. I only stirred when my husband brought the kids home and even then I only partially awoke. I was totally drained.
I was happily overwhelmed by messages of love and affection from my friends via my new Facebook account. Afraid I’d be seen as too much hard or someone with too many issues, instead people have stood firmly by me. Some have opened up about their own stories – guessing by my reactions to things (I’ve not told people what’s going on) and others have told me that they’re there for me. I’ve been offered places to stay, shoulders to cry on, ears to listen. Old friends, new friends, people that I’ve not spoken too much to recently. I never really thought people were that bothered about me. In fact when I restarted my Facebook account, I anticipated very few following me again. I know I’m outspoken, I’m hardwork at the best of times, I don’t see anything worthwhile in me. I do care enormously about people and I invest a lot of myself in people but I never think people feel the same about me. I don’t feel worthy of that. I don’t feel lovable. I don’t feel like I’m easy to care about. I’m easy to forget. Easy to hate, easy to dismiss and frankly unbalanced!
It gave me strength.
I won’t deny, there’s been fleeting images, just very brief snapshots where I can see myself falling into a carbon monoxide induced slumber at the wheel of my car. Letting the stress, the eternal nightmare of it all be carried away with the fumes. Peace, aside from the gentle ticking over of the engine, the music of my choice. The end of it all. The comfort and depth, the eternity of death. Of course I wouldn’t have to see the destruction left behind. My children, their confusion, their hurt, anguish, my husband, his pain, guilt (not that he should have any), his anger, grief, etc. the selfishness of my act would mean I was free of all of that.
I have told my husband many times, if it wasn’t for the children I’d have left ages ago, that’s not strictly true. If it wasn’t for the children, I’d be dead by now. I have absolutely no doubt about that. I never anticipated living this long. I long since dreamed I’d give myself to the ocean. Just disappear one day. Over medicate and plunge into the beautiful powerful ocean.
When I was 18 I remember smoking weed with some backpackers just outside of Monaco on the water and I thought then, in my loose limbed body, I could go out there peacefully. And I was, for all intents and purposes in a good place.
Often throughout my travels I have thought I would end an epic adventure by ending my life. I felt that at some point I would know when the time was right. But ironically I didn’t anticipate it being at a low, depressed desperate point in my life.
I feel like death has always been waiting for me. In my very low psychotic periods I have delusions about demons. It terrorises me. This isn’t peaceful or reassuring to me.
Anyway, despite all of this, I couldn’t do this to my children. Leave them with a legacy of questions, a gaping hole, a miserable depraved loss. No cleverly worded letter in the world could explain.
So the early hours of this morning I was thinking of things I could do before my passport arrived. To avoid the bitter trappings of a further slip into a possible breakdown. Which is hard when one side of my brain creates an idea and the immediate other side pisses all over it! – I said I’m hard work! But at least I was trying.
My phone was lit from messages so I decided to look at it and check through some of the messages as it had been the day in the UK and I was going to catch up with messages.
And there was an email from my lawyer. Completely unexpected. As he had warned might happen the CPS (crown prosecution service) have now intervened to perform a review of my case. Even though the trial was signed off by a judge, a plea was entered, he’s on bail and a date is set. Everything needs to be independently reviewed. At this point they can take over, or drop everything entirely. I know I was warned about this. And because they initially didn’t charge the concern was that it might make them look bad to have had that decision overthrown. Or they could be impartial – but it’s the CPS, which has been embarrassed in the media a lot in recent years.
My lawyer has told me he’s continuing as normal and we can just hope for a positive outcome. If not of course there are actions we can take.
But it’s just something that I didn’t expect right at this time. Maybe earlier in the proceedings?
Imagine worst case scenario, my case is pulled and there’s nothing I can do. He goes back to his normal life bar a few weeks of minor inconvenience? I’m thousands of dollars down, had more people pick over my private intimate details, been traumatised and victimised again, been through hell, put my family through terrible strain, increased my symptoms of PTSD ten fold, and for what?? My husband said that at least A JUDGE signed it off, at least he was on bail, at least the lawyers believed you. You were taken seriously, it was taken seriously. You did affect him.
But this wasn’t a car crash. It wasn’t someone that snatched my bag (not to minimise the trauma of those obviously).
This male violated me. He painfully robbed me of my virginity. He exposed me. He touched me, he used his mouth on me. He hurt me. He broke me. He damaged me. He made me dirty. He made me disgusting. He shoved himself so hard inside of me I thought I was damaged so badly I’d never have children. I thought I was different down there. I thought I was marked, scarred.
I STILL have nightmares, i still struggle to be touched, I still can’t tolerate a lot of intimate things. I still feel ashamed, I still feel dirty, I still feel different, I still live in fear. I still have panic attacks.
I wasn’t allowed a choice. I wasn’t allowed a healthy growth in young adulthood.
I haven’t been allowed justice.
Everyday is a fight. Justice is a fight. To be heard is a fight.
Have I mentioned I’m tired?
I dread the days and I dread the nights.
He will always be more powerful than me. I will always surmount to the lesser value.