It has been awhile since I’ve allowed myself to be open enough to write here again, to journal my thoughts and emotions again.
I’ve found myself in a cycle here for the past month or so. I wake up at the last possible minute, roll out of bed, sign onto my computer to work for 8 or 9hrs and then clock out, grab my camera, run out the door to spend the evening in nature, wandering the woods, drowning my thoughts with the stimulation of nature, wildlife and photography. Only to reluctantly leave the woods when the sun is going down, drive home with music blaring then cook dinner, make a drink or two, and watch netflix until bedtime, all while under the influence of an edible or two.
Its official, I’m blocking things out again. Not allowing myself to feel the anxiety, the hurt, the painful memories. Not allowing myself to feel the disgust, the self-loathing, the unworthiness I feel about myself. I’m not going to lie, things have been pretty fucking good for the most part, because I’ve been fucked up - Abusing alcohol, abusing edibles, using constant distractions to block everything out. I’ve been laughing more which is rare for me. It felt good to be high for once rather than the low that I’m used to.
TW - Sexual assault
Anyway… the real reason I’m here I guess is because I had a bit of an episode. I was in the drive thru with my husband and he was being flirty and sexy - we were having fun and teasing each other while waiting for our food but then suddenly… Suddenly he said something that triggered memories to flood up to the surface. Just like that. I can’t even remember the words he said exactly, but I just remember feeling like I was about to throw up right there in the car. I started sweating and panicking and I couldn’t catch my breath. Despite my failed attempts to hide this very obvious change in behavior and mood, he noticed and began to pry. After numerous attempts to get me to open up, I snapped at him telling him I really didn’t want to talk about it. He knows some things about my past sexual trauma but he doesn’t know details. He kept saying that it would be beneficial to him for him to know what caused me to panic so he doesn’t repeat it in the future, especially when we are intimate. He said he wanted intimacy to be something that we both enjoy together, and he never wants to hurt me.
I appreciate that. I LOVE that about him. He is so sweet and caring and shows concern for me. But no matter how comfortable I am with him, I cannot tell him about what happened to me. All I could muster up is one vague sentence that tells him literally nothing, but it was something along the lines of 'There are some things that have happened to me in the past that sometimes I am reminded of during…that. And I have a hard time suppressing it."
He let it go. We sat there in the car, parked, while I tried to eat like I was fine but I barely could. I was so nauseous. All I could think about was that… thing, that weapon, the fear and the pain. It was like I was suddenly right back there again, facedown with a hand on the back of my neck to keep me still, him telling me not to make a sound or he’ll do it even harder…
God, why can’t I just fucking say it? I want so badly to let this horrible memory out of my head and I thought I could do it here but I can’t even write it. I swear it is all so fucking clear in my mind that I wonder if I’m not actually there in that time of my life again; lying there telling myself that it will be over soon and not to make a sound or it will be worse.
It was like everything was just a fucking game to him: Let’s see how long she can keep quiet while I’m hurting her. And then the next thing I remember, I’m putting my clothes back on and trying not to panic from the amount of blood I see down my legs and on the sheets, and he’s mad at me for getting so much blood on the sheets and ripping them off the bed like its my fucking fault that I was just raped with an object. Then I’m stumbling to the shower and hiding there for awhile trying to calm down, while my “boyfriend” is drinking and playing video games in the other room acting like nothing even happened. I was so broken after that and he just acted so normal… How can you do that to someone and not feel anything at all? I was just a teenager, a stupid naive teenager who thought “He loves me - he doesn’t mean to hurt me. This won’t happen again.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been the same after that day. And knowing that… that monster is able to go on and become a police officer… and have a wife and infant daughter and live happily ever fucking after, is a goddamn joke.
If I can’t even write what happened here, how the hell am I supposed to talk to my husband about it? How do you put horrible images into a sweet, loving and innocent man’s head? I don’t want my husband to think of me that way. I don’t want him to know the things I’ve been through. I couldn’t do it - I couldn’t tell him. And I’m worried that not telling him has hurt him - because I can’t even open up to my own husband.
This has been boiling for awhile, I knew that. Anytime I see a show and there are police involved, and I see those weapons in their hands, I freak out - Take a drink. Any time I see a cop car on the road, my breath catches in my chest and I scan the license plate wondering if its from that state… Anytime I’m in my hometown, I am in full on paranoid mode, constantly scanning the area around me praying that I never ever run into him again. I should have expected that this would bubble up to the surface like this but I just didn’t think it would hit me this fucking hard.
After my episode in the drive thru, all I wanted to do was come home and drink, eat an edible or two and bury the memories again - to feel happy again.
So that’s what I did.
And ever since then I’ve been spiraling.
As long as I’m sedated, I’m fine, and laughing and happy. But as soon as I’m sober, my world falls apart.
Today I’m out of alcohol so I can’t drink, and I’m refusing edibles too and forcing myself to feel and just be sober for fucking once. And I know this is some form of depression, or self destruction or whatever and I know I need therapy like I need a hole in the head but… being sober me sucks and this amount of anxiety I feel is through the roof. I don’t want to be sober if this is how I am going to feel, but I’m sober today, and I hate myself. I didn’t get dressed today, I didn’t really talk to my husband today, I didn’t eat, the dishes have piling up in the sink for days and the house is a mess but I just don’t care about those things or even myself right now. Is it silly to say that I just want to crawl back into bed and hope I never wake up?