With Donald Trump not believing women of sexual abuse for taking a time or not reporting I thought it was time to tell my own story in detail, what happened after, and why it took me so long to open afterwards. I gave a short explanation to this on Twitter and I wrote about it on here but I think its very important to talk about why I didn’t report the rape or sexual assault I experienced.
Life does as it pleases,
Every day is the same,
I always take the blame.
The Abuse was my fault,
The Rape was my fault,
The Miscarriages were my fault,
The Breakdowns were my fault.
Two weeks ago I deactivated my Facebook account, after my second miscarriage it hurt me to look at my friends and family with their babies and pregnancies. This time I deactivated it right away, all because it made me feel so much worse last time, and it’s given me time to grieve. For the first time, I’ve stopped comparing my life to those around me.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence and it was the third miscarriage which made me stop comparing, but I really don’t think it was. Facebook has a way of making me obsessed with everyone else, it hurts my anxiety to the point where I’m crippled because my life hasn’t turned out the way that everyone else has.
I understand that it’s all bullshit, no one really talks about there actual life, they just show the good parts of it. I understand the pressure of trying to make my life look perfect, even forcing myself to go places just because everyone else is doing it, which in turn hurts my mental illness as I force myself to look normal.
But I’m not normal, why would I even want to be normal? I’m quirky, I joke around a lot, and to other people, I may actually be weird. But I am me, unapologetic me, and Facebook makes me want to apologise for who I am. It makes me want to put a face on, pretend to be perfect, but it’s completely wrong.
I should be celebrating my individuality, that quirky girl who talks about her problems, writes, crafts like mad, reads, is a geek, and always has a kind word for other people. The girl that’s had a hard life, but doesn’t let it stop her, after facing abuse she still lets herself be open and vulnerable around other people because that’s who I am.
I believe the best in people, it may make me a target (it has made me a target), but I shouldn’t apologise for seeing the good in the people around me, even if they don’t understand what trauma does to a person, or talk behind other people’s back. It shouldn’t make me feel like I have to be a different person.
My other half always says I wear my heart on my sleeve, that everyone takes advantage of me, and he might be right. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be myself, it shouldn’t make me want to hide from what is real, or who I really am. I want to live in a world where everyone shares everything, warts and all.
A world where I don’t have to live up to perfection because I had enough of that growing up, I want to live in a world where flaws are appreciated as individuality, not something to hide from, and that world is definitely not available on Facebook. It’s definitely not going to change to reflect real life.
Maybe we have to understand that and stay away. But there are good things about Facebook, due to my mental illness I’m not allowed to see my niece too much, and I have to deal with that. On Facebook I can now be part of her teenage life, comment on her posts, and talk to her through messenger.
It isn’t right that I’m not in her life, I’m no good at confrontation to fix it, but I can show that I care through Facebook. It’s not perfect, it’s not the life I imagined when she was born, but it does make me feel included in her life. I can also contact close family who live thousands of miles away from me, without Facebook I would never really talk to them besides the odd email, and I’m thankful for that.
But the bad outweighs the good for me right now, I might go back in a few weeks or I might just end up staying off it.
I just sit and watch it pass,
I watch as the tarnish corrodes the brass,
The leaves that once fell have turned to dust,
As I watch my entire life begin to rust.
For so long my life has stood still,
Every day I take my pill,
I sit here and stare into space,
Too scared to talk to the human race.Read More »
On Sunday I decided to take a little break from social media, I’m always amazed when it gets to an unhealthy point because social media makes me feel less isolated, but the past few days have been an eye opener at how unhealthy it can be.
It always starts when I begin to compare my life to others, I’ve been very isolated and it always makes me feel worse about myself. I begin to put my little triumphs down, “You went for a coffee on a weekday, why are you feeling proud of a thing most people do every day?”
Then I force myself to do things because everyone else can do them, I forced myself to go the biggest Highland show, be constantly sandwiched by people, and then I had a breakdown next to the crafting tent.
Trigger Warning – Sensitive Subject Matter
I know you were afraid to get involved,
I know you heard everything he did to me,
and I know you just tried to forget about it.
I don’t blame you for not intervening,
you knew there was no reasoning with him,
and he’d hurt me more if you did.
I don’t blame you for not trying to talk to me about it,
it’s a sensitive issue to bring up,
and the one neighbour who did couldn’t make me leave.
Everywhere I go I find myself a new trigger,
I cannot find any lasting peace,
I sit in my house and hide from the digger.
They follow me into the night,
I hide under the covers in terror,
As some drunk starts a fight.
There are a few subjects I haven’t spoken to my therapist about, we’ve covered the domestic abuse I’ve faced in great length, we’ve covered my narcissist and occasionally abusive mother, having two disabled parents to look after and the constant role reversal that comes with it, and finally the time a friend went too far.
What we haven’t spoken about in almost nine months of therapy, is my miscarriage. The event that led me straight back to therapy, because I just can’t talk about it. Every session I tell myself I’ll be able to do it, it’s not like I haven’t balled my eyes out over unresolved issues, but I just cannot understand why I cannot talk about it.
Yesterday I felt pretty good, I was worried about the suicidal feelings I had during my bought of depression, but I felt extremely euphoric. Mostly in part because my partner who has been working away a lot lately will be back home 80% of the time now, and mostly because I’d stopped feeling so empty.
When I woke up today I instantly started some heavy cleaning, not just in one room but the whole house, next thing I know I’m covered in sweat and severely dehydrated so I decided to take a shower. Now the bathroom is not a good place for me, and it rivals darkness when it comes to my panic attacks and flashbacks, but I’m so determined today that I’m positive I can do it.
The inescapable void is chasing me,
it takes my eyes so I can’t see,
as it swarms it drags me down,
deeper we go under the ground.
I try so hard to fight back,
but the void has me in this attack,
it knows my every weakness,
and soon all I feel is its bleakness.