Lately I have been waking up at 3am, even on my days off, and my first thought without fail is ‘it’s morning, that means antidepressant, thank god for that’.
That’s sad, isn’t it?
You know, I can already tell they are helping me, but I’m just not exactly sure if I should be happy about that.
Anyway, this message seems pretty fragmented, but then again so is my mentality at the moment, so, kinda fitting. You know, I have been ignoring messages from my PTSD therapist, he doesn’t know I have been dealing with the police, in a weird way I am ashamed of myself. In our sessions we speak about being a survivor, that this person hurt me in the past not now, how I am in control of my life. I’m ashamed that I still have that hunger for justice, a survivor probably wouldn’t have that, would they. I’m a joke. I know full well that I am still as pathetic as he made me when he raped me, and I’m still not strong enough to break free from it, still a prisoner dragging everyone down. Still a fucking victim. His victim.
What a let down I am, eh.
So I’m heading to the police today, I’m a bag of nerves. They want to look at correspondence between us apparently, as well as his confession in person; they have seen it via email already.
I have dreamt about this day happening for months, the start of justice, but now it’s here I have spent the morning crying. I just hate the situation with every fibre of my being, you know? I’m not a vengeful person, but this situation has turned me into someone I don’t recognise. I’m not for a single second saying that he doesn’t deserve it, because he does, but, I hate what it has done to me and my life. I hate being unsure whether to feel happy, scared, relieved or upset..
I don’t even know what way is up even, anymore.