I found my rapist on Facebook last night, he is using a common nickname for his name. Stalking through his public posts, I was able to figure out that he has not really changed, and probably believed that it was his right to continue having sex with me even after I had said no. The thing is, looking at all of his behaviour, I am able to say, perhaps he has not changed, but I have.
I have survived to be so much stronger than that. Of course, I carry some scars still, I always will.
But, I remember when I was in primary school with a young girl who had been badly burned as a child, and who had scars on her face thinking that they were beautiful…a wonderful pattern of lines that were completely unique. Of course, I was oblivious to the pain that had caused the scars, but the scars did not cause the pain. The scars represent having come through.
Oh dear god, I have no idea where to start writing this. I am just not coping right now. I don’t know where this resistance is coming from. I want to break free. I have no idea how to though. I am falling back onto habits that don’t help me.
I want to become financially independent.
I want to have super-sexy arms.
I want to be able to run a 9 minute mile. And do a 5 k in under 30 minutes.
I want to be able to prove the people who have made me doubt myself wrong.
I want to be confident.
I want to believe in myself.
I am managing to work out every day, but I need to do more. I need to start bringing it on a work side to.
I am just feeling really over-whelmed right now. I am feeling like an inadequate little kid with a disappointed mother in the background saying you are useless, worthless, not good enough.
I want to make good choices. I don’t want to eat a giant packet of niknaks all by myself and then crawl into bed crying. I want to stop feeling all of this pain. I remember being numb and part of me feels that it is better to be numb but I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to sabotage my weight loss efforts I am getting close to my first goal of 65kg…but I am hurting myself and I don’t know how to stop.
Yesterday’s post was very down but the amazing thing about speaking about the darkness is it allows cracks of light to come through. I’m still not doing well but I’m doing better than yesterday. And that my friends is progress.
At the moment the only thing that is allowing me to have some semblance of normality, of sanity is keeping everything tightly wound. So tightly wound that it is unhealthy. Cracks are beginning to show…I’m irritable. I’m scared. I’m scared of the darkness inside my head. The liar inside telling me that I’m worhtless and that everyone else things that I’m stupid. That I’m incapable of loving being loved.
The darkness it creeps up on you. You have no real idea that it’s tide has turned until suddenly out of the blue it looms over you. Cold, dark, miserable. Engulfing you and silencing you.
I know there is light out there somewhere and I know that I need to let myself feel numb. Because for me when I’m depressed I don’t really feel down…I feel numb. Using the word feel is incorrect because it implies that there is far more sensation than there actually is.
Today’s depression is probably more hormonal and stress induced than anything else. But just because I know why it’s here doesn’t make it go away.
I battled to sleep last night. We turned in around 11 and I read until about midnight, but it took me about an hour to get up to sleep. Then at about quarter to four one of our dogs decided to wake us up and then it took me until five a.m. to give up and take a sleeping tablet.
There is something my subconscious is trying to tell me. Something about hidden and unexpected treasures being stolen and returned. Something about an adventure. But I’m just not able to figure it all out.
Anxiety is a bitch but since the psychiatrist has doubled my dose of meds I seem to be less on edge…but the flip side is the side effects are back. Dry-mouth and headaches with a side order of nausea.
I’ve figured out that an “objective” indicator of how depressed I am is my interest in the fish. It seems to be a good scale and I’m keeping track of my mood on a site prescribed by my doc.
Not looking forward to tomorrow, it’s my mum’s birthday.
Remember me? I know it’s been a while since I posted. I just needed to take a break from everything. Take some time for me. Part of this time involved me going to the doctor and getting a prescription for anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. The strange thing is that I did not even realize that I was anxious the whole time, I was not even convinced about th diagnosis. I think being anxious had become such a way of life for me that I barely noticed it any more.
I’m not okay yet, but I am definitely on the road to recovery. I am working with a wonderful therapist who is guiding me through this process of healing myself.
I am excited about becoming an aunt in the very near future, and am planning my own family. I have set some realistic goals and I am on track to achieving them.
I don’t know when I will post again, for now I think I still need to spend some time in my own head. Confronting the demons of my past.
I’m still not okay, but I’m getting there.
My depression is a dark secret. Very few people in real life no about it. Even less of them know how bad it is. And the effort of hiding it is becoming exhausting. An unexpected visit at the weekend exhausted me.
I get consumed with feelings of self-loathing. Angry at myself for being so pathetic. Their is a tiny voice inside my head that speaks out and tells me that I’m being irrational, but it is drowned out.
I think one of the things that makes it worse is that I feel like I don’t have any right to be depressed. That I’m a liar and a fake and that I should just happy the fuck up. I should be grateful for what I do have. I should be out in the world riding rainbows. But at the moment it is just too much effort.
Perhaps I am just exhausted, tired out of pretending to be okay. Because right now I am not okay. I will be one day. But today is not that day. And it’s alright for me to cry a little bit.
I know I need to get help, the thing is I suck at asking for it. I don’t know if it is a hangover of being an abused kid or if it is just stubbornness, of wanting to exist in a reality where I don’t need help. Where I am completely independent. But that would be just another form of delusion.
So for now I’ll just get it off my chest, I’m not okay…but I will be.