Torturing myself is a hard habit to break.

Sounds ridiculous, right?

But that’s what I have spent months doing and I can’t seem to stop. I lie awake for large chunks of the night replaying what happened in my mind, concentrating hard enough and I can feel the fabric of his t shirt, rough against my palms. If I focus I can remember that it was drizzling outside, a miserable day both in and out. If I manage to get some respite from seeing it, then I hear it, no and stop it ringing in my ears and let me tell you, it is not easy to ignore. He managed to though. 

Most nights are spent with a degree of that going on, some times it’s worse. Sometimes I wake up with a jolt because it feels like there is someone on me that I can’t push off, my heart is in my throats when I wake up and I will be too scared to go back to sleep, god I don’t sound like an adult, do I. I stop myself from going back to sleep by reading on my kindle, thrillers. I like thrillers. My record at the moment is two books (roughly 300pages each) in one night time. I’m not sure if that is impressive or just monumentally sad, that I have that much adrenaline and that much fear circulating around me just by dreaming about being raped again. 

I dunno.

What I do know is that I am permanently exhausted. Right now I am home alone, baby free. I should be doing my dissertation, I should be doing something productive. Instead? Instead I am sitting on my bed crying, willing for this day to just pass quickly and mentally preparing myself for another day of intrusive thoughts and absolute mental anguish.

I hate being like this because of something that was not within my control. Because of something I tried to fight against. That word unfair is going to crop up again, yes I use it a lot, but it’s true. It is highly unfair and it just sickens me, to my absolute core. 

I am not a weak person, I don’t think I ever have been. Living with a chronic disease that results in multiple complications, being a single Mum…you can’t be weak. I hate the fact, I absolutely detest the fact that this ‘life experience’ as my therapist calls it, you know, this fucking, unfair, unjust, goddamn awful, hate filled, shitter of a life experience has made me weak.

I just want my mind back, you know? 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s