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.

Strong women.

The news at the moment is brimming with reports of Hollywood tales of rape and sexual assault. It’s incredibly upsetting, but also, awe inspiring as to how unbelievably strong these women are being. It makes me incredibly proud that they are finding their voices again, and reclaiming their power.

It makes me sad when I read their reports and I immediately can identify with how they felt, the anger, the guilt, the self blame and hatred. The belief that it was down to them. It breaks my heart that I understand how they felt in those few moments, you know?

I wonder if all this sexual assault and rape has ever once made ‘him’ feel bad about what he did to me; whether the guilt suddenly hit him in the stomach when he realises that he is no better than the monster in the news, because he isn’t, is he? Down to the bare bones of it.

Anyway, I won’t allow him to ruin yet another one of my days.

But strong women reclaiming their souls and fire; what a beautiful thing indeed. 

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. 

Feeling weirdly optimistic… that’s new.

Yeah.

I’ve gotten so used to feeling like shit, totally blue and depressed, and that is not a word that I use lightly. I’ve just realised I have forgotten to take my antidepressant this morning, tits. That’s annoying. 

Anyway. 

I’m sitting in the staff room, wearing completely oversized scrubs, smiling away to myself. Today just seems, I don’t know, more at ease, I guess? My stomach is actually full and I don’t hate myself for it. I made delicious soup last night and another one for lunch later today, the prospect of enjoying it later on is nice. I guess it’s because I met up with the police yesterday perhaps? Suddenly the ball of nerves that has been occupying my stomach has dispersed and been replaced with, well just relief. To know that I have taken that first real, proper, face to face step is a huge deal to me, not just emails and texts. Me, someone that has been riddled with anxiety and whose life has been entirely on hold. 

So, yeah, I won’t type loads about how it went yesterday right now, as I’m starting work in a few minutes, but will update later on.

Here’s hoping today is amazing, I could do with it! 

Today, today, today.

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. 

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.

‘C’est la vie?’ Oh, do one.

That was his whatsapp status for months after we split, when we were doing the ‘friendship’ thing, how glad am I that didn’t work out! And anyway, the moron can’t even speak a word of French, you should have seen him pathetically bumbling his way around Paris.

Anyway, I digress.

I used to read that and think he maybe struggled with us splitting, I know it messed him up for a fair while. I got the crying phone calls from him late at night, I would have to hear about really destructive behaviours that he was doing to himself, I got the calls where he threatened to top himself and then he’d go missing all night while I sat up desperately trying to get hold of him. Yes, I did it all to him as well, but lest we forget that he is guilty of it as well.. but I used to read that line, conjuring up all kinds of reasons why he would have it up, I read it much differently now, though.

‘That’s life’.

Hold on. 

That’s life? That’s life, is it? Getting away with rape you mean? Doing an unthinkable act and getting to leave it behind you without so much as a second thought, knowing you have absolutely destroyed someone’s life, that’s life, is it? Being SO pompous that you honestly think you have a right to even utter something like that. That’s life, oh fuck off. Stop even acting as if you ever cared about the carnage that you have left trailing behind you for everyone else to have to pick up.

That’s life.. I don’t have much of a life at the moment. 

So I gave myself until Sunday I believe to lose three more pounds, well, it’s Wednesday and I have lost two already, so at least I have control over one aspect of my life.

Oh, actually two! This afternoon I am meeting with the police officer in charge, to discuss things and see where to go from here. 

God, I just wish he had apologised properly for what he did to me. I never wanted this.

(9/08/17 – 8am)

Up, down. Up, down.

I took my first antidepressant last night, properly I mean. 

Takes four weeks to have a noticeable change in you apparently; why do I feel that four weeks is time that I just don’t have. I had to walk out of work yesterday because I just suddenly could not cope with my thoughts, the ongoing situation, all of it, it is really taking a toll on me, still. No matter how much I laugh and smile, joke around, it is always there and it’s destroying me quite frankly.

I am meeting with the police officer in charge tomorrow to discuss taking things further. I let slip to him yesterday that I had done something destructive the day before, had left work and been prescribed antidepressants. He turned up to my house, unannounced to check on me, bare in mind that he works in Central London. 

How kind is that. And how suicidal must I have sounded.

Oh god I don’t want to get up and face the day, I really don’t. To have to go downstairs and see that sofa where he did wha he did. Can’t I just be allowed to hide away, forever? 

Time to plaster on that fake smile yet again, for everyone else’s benefit..

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.