Thinking aloud.

So I know I have put a halt on police proceedings until after I qualify in Jan; until I feel strong enough. But I’ve still been gathering up evidence by myself. Yes, the police have most of it, his long confession where he admits he raped me (doesn’t apologise though), various emails where it’s mentioned and not denied by him etc.

Its still very weird because, I still hold all the cards and all the power against him. I have the power to destroy him just like his actions completely destroyed me. Its just, I don’t know, most of the time I’m not so sure I can be bothered anymore. I’m exhausted, I really am. Even now I’d still accept an apology most likely.. just some justification and understanding of what he’s caused me through what he did to me.  He called my home number back in June, I’ve no idea if it was to apologise, to cry down the phone, whatever.  I just so wish I would get a fucking sorry. His family and friends most likely tell him he’s done nothing wrong, I could not even imagine protecting a rapist, being friends with a rapist, being a sibling, parent or cousin of a rapist either. I couldn’t imagine visiting one in prison, either. Amazing how being so cowardly over an apology can lead to such destruction. I write this while sitting on a pub in Kings Cross. Lots of memories in this pub, most of which are bad, I have been back with other people since him, but it certainly leaves a sour taste in ones mouth. Not really sure why I’ve ended up here, I had plans in Acton, but truthfully I guess it’s almost nice to feel something, yep even sadness after being so medically numb to everything. God. Why the fuck was a simple sorry just too much to ask for? The police, a looming court case, none of which he is even fully aware of.. I just want my fucking life back. He stole my entire being in that fifteen seconds, hard to believe but he did. Staying with him after and all those love yous and still feeling so lucky at being in love with this guy.. It makes me feel sick to my stomach now. I feel nauseous every time I think of his hands on me, his lips, shared I love yous or handholding; I just want to be sick and scrub and erase all those memories out.

I just wish I’d been free to hate him from the off.

I want my mind back.

One eye to the future; real perspective…

Without breaking any confidentiality, I attended my first cardiac arrest while on shift yesterday. My adrenaline remained absolutely through the roof for hours afterwards; I was on a whole other planet, quite honestly. A pretty shocking scene, no doubt, but it was definitely one capable of shifting one’s perspective.

 Life is short and very, very fragile. Bad stuff happens, but on the other hand we play a role in keeping ourselves there.

 I have kept myself in a bad place, convincing myself that I had to stay there because of what happened to me, but witnessing that while on shift changed my mindset. I’m not belittling what he did to me; but I’m right in saying that life is short and I’m also recognising the fact that I’ve been in the process of destroying mine. An awful thing happened to me by someone who turned out to the polar opposite of what he pretended, but I have always been in control as to where I went next; I guess I just needed to realise that. 

I’m still here, with all the time, and potential to do anything, meet anyone, go anywhere. I’ve got all of Isabel’s growing up to watch, enjoy and occasionally suffer, I’m sure. As I said earlier, bad stuff happens but we play a part in keeping ourselves there. Perhaps I needed to witness what I did yesterday to realise how much potential and good things there are in the present. 

I hope that yesterday’s epiphany provides the basis for leaving this awful year and a bit behind.  I owe it to myself, and Isabel, most of all, to stay in the now.

Here’s to finally having one eye on the future, but not lingering in the past. 

The truth.

I wanted to write this down, no not wanted, I need to write this down so I can look back on it and hopefully see a change in me. Hopefully. I wanted to write it for the numerous people in my life that I know also suffer with mental health issues, too.

You know, in my career looking after physically ill people, it is almost expected that a nurse should be in impeccable health, not a external, or indeed internal blemish, but I don’t think that is quite realistic. 

I attended clinical training today. I enjoyed it, it was interesting. I socialised, sat and ate lunch with peers and shared jokes and laughed at how little we all appeared to know. I probably appeared happy and carefree.

Fast forward a few hours.

My brother has just called the house phone fifteen times to try and reach my grandmother because he was worried that I had tried to hurt myself, again. This situation, the rape, what happened, has turned me into someone that I don’t recognise. I don’t like myself one little bit, in fact I detest myself in all honesty. Traumatic events, or fuck, no pissing reason even can instigate depression and its fucking torture. It is torturous. There is no other way to describe it, bleak. To be caught up in cycles of good days and then a big fucker of a bad one that undoes weeks of work is draining, its mentally exhausting. To be functioning on numb is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but when it is your only option, you try and justify it and pretend you are ok with it. It’s all bullshit. Who wants to be numb? I don’t. I want to enjoy life. I want to walk in the park with my daughter and not feel fucking vulnerable all of the time. I want to believe in good people again, not just waiting for them to reveal their bad traits just like he did.  I want to experience a bloody day where I am not completely exhausted by 10am. I just want to be happy again, properly happy not this fake happy that I have adopted to shut everyone up.

My brother who is not an emotional person by any means has spent this evening shaking and terrified about the state I have been in this evening. He said he is heartbroken. I needed to write this down because why should I hide it? Mental health affects most of us at some point and I for one don’t think I need to hide that fact away. Admitting struggles openly shows that I am human, vulnerable to whatever unfair shit life throws in my direction, and boy oh boy has it thrown some major shit my way.

People don’t need to be ashamed or indeed made to feel ashamed of any mental health issues that they are battling with, god only knows I have collected quite a bundle over the past year: PTSD, Depression, OCD, Anxiety, Eating disorder… lest we forget the constant feelings of self hated and guilt left over from the rape.

 Aren’t I a barrel of laughs.

My head is banging and I’m all cried out this evening. I write my blog posts because it is cathartic and it helps me. But tonight I have written this during a huge panic attack and contemplating some destructive behaviours. I don’t like feeling weak all the time, but to turn it on it’s head, am I weak or am I actually being really fucking strong, because I’m still here, and lord only knows that I have tried my upmost not to be. 

Mental health affects anyone, with or without cause. Be compassionate, be listening always, be ready to offer help, you don’t know how might actually be in need of it. 

Break time thoughts.

I was looking forward to escaping to work, being able to concentrate and think of other things. Unfortunately for me, it hasn’t really worked out that way.

I had to inform a senior nurse and my matron of the situation, when I had to leave work last week, it just all got too much. I could not deal with the intrusive thoughts swirling around in my head while trying to work for 13 hours, especially with three missed calls from the police happening in my scrub pocket as well. I’m not the sort of person who enjoys telling people about this situation, yes writing about it is cathartic to an extent, but, talking about it? Hearing the words come out of my mouth detailing it all, no, no I hate it. 

I don’t want to appear negatively and when I told them I did it with a smile. A sort of manner that said ‘yeah, this happened to me but I’ve handed it over to the police now, I’m fine’. I’m not quite sure it came across like that though. In fact my voice shook, that tell tale wobble when the lump in your throat forms and the tears collect in the corner of your eyes. 

Office doors were immediately closed and hugs were given. People I have worked with for two weeks, who barely even know me were showering me with support and my god was that what I needed in that moment.

I am full of nerves regarding this video statement. God, was I ever expecting this to happen? All I ever wanted was a sorry, but he couldn’t even give me a simple apology so now look where we are.

  Ill. Damaged. Fucked up.

Actually, not just nervous of it, I’m terrified of it. Sitting and talking about it, but being recorded, knowing that officers are going to pick apart what I say and question him about it. Literally going and getting him from home or work. That thought fills me with two feelings in all honesty.

  1. Happy because it is what he god damn deserves. To be scared, like I was. To be made to confront what he is guilty of, no longer being able to run from it like the coward he truly is.
  2. Upset. I absolutely loved this guy. First love never fully, fully goes away I guess, even considering what he did to me, hardly seems fair. I mean, I hate him, a lot, but there is always that lingering caring, admittedly it is decreasing very fast, but still, I do wish it was fully, fully gone. He was my world, my daughters world and now I have enlisted the police to get him. What he deserves, yes. But I spent so long protecting him, always putting him first and now, the complete opposite. It’s just, different. It’s horrible in all honesty.

Stronger than before, most definitely. Whether that’s actually due to being stronger or heavy duty antidepressants numbing me to everything, I’m not so sure really. 

An open letter to the onlookers.

I used to be so upset about what you were thinking of me. I reasoned with myself that I had been painted out to be some mad ex, as character assassination is the first thing a coward would do, and a coward he is. I lost a lot of sleep over that actually because I am not a bad person. Not at all, but I am somebody who is looking for a degree of justice.

I realise that it must be hard to admit that you are friends with a rapist. I suppose it is easier to believe that the victim is the wrong party, that way you don’t have to think badly of a friend, know what I mean?

I used to be so concerned about that. I felt so angry at the fact that there was no recognition for what he had done by the people close to him. That I was thought badly of when I had literally done nothing, and I mean – nothing. But now I know that it doesn’t matter, for two reasons:

  1. Who the fuck even cares what people that I met what, twice at most think of me? That is really unimportant. I don’t even remember many of their names, just by little comments that he told me about them. But yeah, why would I even be concerned?
  2. It doesn’t matter what they think of me or indeed believe because, I know what he did to me and so does he.

I may look like I thrive on attention, but that is also incorrect. I hate this. I have daily panic attacks, I’m medicated and just in a really bad way, so no, I do not thrive on this situation at all.

Am I jealous that he has potentially moved on? No. Sometimes it gives me a little kick in the stomach, but that is just due to having loved someone as much as I loved him, its always a bit shit, but a perfect remedy for that is to just remember what he did, and how it felt when he forced himself into me. To remember the physical pain that lasted for a good few days afterwards, a constant reminder. That soon deals with that feeling.

I will say this, though. good luck. Good luck once you have fallen for the nice guy routine and the real him is revealed. The emotionally unavailable, moody man who will make you feel as low as anything once you had gotten used to him making you feel as high as the clouds. The man who will compliment you every day until he decides to do something (a slap, a burn, a rape – two of those things with a child present) but because he is so amazing 99% of the time you forgive him. Every time you accept his pitiful reasons, his tears, his self wallowing – you love him and can’t imagine losing him. You will hold him in your arms and ignore what he did, how he’s hurt you, you don’t want to think about it you just focus on how much you love him.

But then he will do something soul destroying – and you won’t come back from it. Rape, for example. Or worse than that, you will need his emotional support more than anything or anyone, and he will tease you with it and never supply it, even though you fell to your knees trying to make sure he was ok, he won’t do it back. In fact he will watch you crumble in front of him, in absolute emotional agony. He will watch you breaking apart and then claim he thought he was acting in your best interest, you know, by watching you teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. I experienced both at the hands of him, rape and the lack of emotional support surrounding our baby. So, good luck. I reckon you will very much need it.

I do feel guilt though. That I left it so long to report it, this whole time he could be on some dating app and be free to do the same thing to someone else who believes his charm offensive. Do I think he could? Well, he managed to do it to me and that was after telling me he loved me for nearly two years, helped to raise my daughter, bought me an engraved wedding ring, fitted in the shop and tried to get me to elope with him so, yeah I think he is capable. Sorry but I do. Also slapping me when I had a child on my lap, its not the actions of a nice person, is it?

Actually I won’t apologise for thinking that. What else am I meant to think exactly? It is not that he is ‘capable’ of doing it, but he has done it. Done it to me and I find it mental that people seem to think that its all done and dusted, everyone move on…when actually, no, justice is needed. End of.

Also, the more time I spend talking about the rape, it has dawned on me just how pathetic it is to claim that he was confused, like, if someone tells you that they don’t want sex – what is there to be confused about? So yes, I feel guilt that he could do it again, but I also realise that his actions are not something that I control.

I am safe now, he hurt me, hurt me terribly but now I am safe.

I can be labelled as whatever people wish to label me as. A liar, a mad ex, a bitch – whatever; because I know the truth of what he did. He knows the truth of what he did. Sometimes I have a mad moment and want to send his confession to everyone and make it known that I was never the bad one, but I refrain. That takes a lot believe me, because it feels like I am still protecting him which I HATE.

Anyway, I take great comfort in knowing that sometime, maybe soon, whenever, that the truth will out and everyone will know exactly what he has done.

Urge to purge.

I had a hypo and didn’t treat it. The goal of slipping into a coma seemed pretty attractive to me. I had that hypo because I gave myself too much insulin, knowingly. My folks and daughter arrived back home and my step Dad sat with me until he saw me treat the hypo. Two spoons of sugar and here I am, having to still be here, having to still be on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. 

He sat outside with me while I chain smoked and talked sense. I won’t deny that everything he said makes sense, about moving forward and that they are scared I’m going to hurt myself (again). I kept it to myself that I had just overdosed on insulin.

I’m so sick of this. He gets to have a life, be happy and not have to care about what he’s caused. My god, what he’s caused, it’s fucking carnage.

We all had lunch together but it was mostly silence, down to me being the huge elephant in the room. I’ve broken free and I’m back in the bathroom, door locked and ready to give in again.

I give up, I really do. 

The PC in charge of the case messaged me midst all of this, I revealed just how bad I have gotten. 

I need a lot of help, I need some form of justice. 

Rank.

Quickly blogging before I leave for my 13 hour shift. Only 80kcal for breakfast and a cup of black tea, hopefully that will keep me ticking over until I get my lunch break, a late one most likely..! 

I’m feeling really down today but will plaster a smile on my face for the benefit of everyone else, as I do most days. I’ve been avoiding calls from my PTSD therapist and I’m spiralling back down to the point I was at before. Difference being this time I have resigned myself to it, how can I fight it anymore? I have no energy to, anymore. 

I feel weak and disgusting, both inside and out. Everything feels rotten. I snapped a quick photo again before I had to head off to work. It’s not as clear as the other one, but I’ve lost even more weight. It’s melting off of me, like even my fat can’t stand to be associated with such a pathetic, weak victim, haha. 

Can hardly blame it.

But still, wasting away slowly is still better than staying put as the ‘rape victim’ for life, isn’t it?

Rape in 13 lines.

That day wasn’t love.

It wasn’t sensual or passionate.

My repeated no and stop its did not mean ‘convince me’.

My pushing at your shoulders as hard as I could manage was not me playing hard to get.

I was scared.

I was frightened.

Frightened of you.

My smile afterwards and telling you everything was alright was misplaced love, and only that.

My hiding it away was misplaced love, and only that.

My worrying about you was misplaced love, and only that.

Me finding my voice is regaining control, not attention.

Me telling the truth is right, not wrong. 

You are in the wrong, not me.

Bon Anniversaire.

I’ve been dreading this week. His birthday week.

God damn, you have no clue how hard it has been not to post a birthday card, haha. Not a nice one, I mean. Christ alive. 

For the past two years I have celebrated his birthday. The first year I took him to a jazz restaurant and show in Camden, I bought him a ridiculously expensive watch (I have no money) and paid for a lovely little hotel for the night as well, it was magical. The second birthday, money for me was really tight. I bought a glass jar and filled it with messages, all to do with our memories, what I loved about him, cherished photos of us, all that sort of bollocks. 

Laughable. I mean, that was post rape. I’m so pathetic aren’t I. 

I presented him with that and he loved it, so much so that he had no issue handing it back a few months later, nice eh.

Anyway, I digress. 

I did however write him a birthday email, while I was in Hampton floating my letter to baby. It is fairly obvious that my emails are all blocked etc, because he’s a pussy and is running from what he’s done. What a man, eh. 

So, here is his birthday wish, from the one person who will ensure that the truth will out:

“So, I’m in Hampton, just after floating a letter in which I apologised for what you are and I just want you to know something. 

This will never go away. Even if I have to wait five, ten years until I can face getting justice then I will, but I promise you that I will get to that point. I cried when floating that letter because all those chances I gave for you to apologise meant nothing to you did that, and I did it out of respect for baby. But you having no remorse for what you did isn’t respecting me as baby’s mum, is it? 

And you know what else? I will not always be your victim but you will always, always be a rapist and I hope that fact alone haunts you for life. 

What you did to me will always be there, when you have sex, when you welcome a child into the world, when you tell someone that you love them. Just remember that you told me that thousands of times, and it didn’t stop you from doing what you did. You can ignore the fact that you raped me all you want, I won’t let it be forgotten. Mark my words. I will get justice. For me, for Baby, and for the daughter you raised from eight months old. 

What you did and what you are will never, ever change. 

You make my blood boil. I have done nothing wrong, you have and I will make damn sure that it is not forgotten. All you ever had to do was just say that you are sorry. That would have been it. 

That baby I carried. Our baby. Remember that next time you pretend to love someone only to ruin their life. 

You are the one who deserves the life sentence. Not me. Never me. 

I won’t always be your victim, you however, will always be a rapist.”

An emotional write, that was. It’s all true though, that’s the thing, all of this is true and fifteen months on it is still horrifically terrifying and this cowardly scum bag thinks he has gotten away free, to leave me trying to pick up all the fragments, when I am not even guilty, not even the in who did anything wrong..

And another thing, actually. This upcoming birthday would have been his first as a Daddy. I wonder if that thought will even pass through his mind at all, if he will allow it to? God sake I had to spend my entire birthday knowing that it was my due date, yet another thing he gets to escape, isn’t it.

I dunno, god I just fucking hate the coward and what he did.

It’s just disgusting. I’m not having it, I’m not.

Giving up, it would seem.

I write this while sitting on the bathroom floor, exhausted and empty.

I didn’t sleep last night. Thoughts of him and the rape swirled around my head non stop, literally non stop, I couldn’t get a break from it – it was just a horrible, traumatising, panic inducing roller coaster from 1am to around 6am.

Fun.

I tried my best to fight back the tears and keep a stiff upper lip all morning, which is hard when you feel constantly inadequate, wrong, pathetic and all whilst having to be in the same room that you were raped in. I sat down with my daughter for breakfast. Tea, smoked salmon, scrambled egg and toast. Usually a firm favourite of mine. I felt sick while plating it up. I cut everything into the tiniest pieces possible and ate as slowly as I could manage.

The mind is a powerful thing isn’t it. I have been telling myself for days that I don’t want to purge, yet there was my body allowing the nausea to wash over me in an instant.

My nan was watching me eat, she doesn’t know what is going on in my head, she knows about what happened but not my new found hobby of self destruction, at least, I don’t think so.

I started to cry the minute my daughter left the table. I try and shield her from my obvious breakdowns, but, I probably don’t do a very good job of that either, just like everything else, it would seem.

My nan tried to comfort me, but ended up just looking at the floor awkwardly, they all do that when I get upset about the rape… why can’t they understand that I have no control over getting this bad? I don’t want to be this fucking depressed, do I. I don’t want to be this bad, do I.

Anyway, I ran into the downstairs bathroom, locked the door and let out the loudest sobs with my head in my hands. My head was, still is actually, absolutely banging. The familiar wave of nausea came up to greet me again and this time I gave into it.

Destructive behaviours. I don’t know why I have developed that urge. The nausea has been with me for a long time, I link it to the horrible anxiety that I have been living with, but the sudden desire to act on it? I look at myself and hate what I see, yeah, but its not for that reason. I just feel, fucking rotten.

I want to purge everything. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want what he did to end up defining me and I don’t feel strong enough to stop it from doing so.

I’m fucking pathetic, I know. You don’t have to tell me.