I wanted to acknowledge, and apologise for, the fact that it takes longer after each blog for me to post another.
In all honesty this is because I didn’t anticipate how writing this blog would make me feel. I thought I was over it all and moving forward. To a certain extent, that is true. But it’s not the whole story.
Writing about my childhood was easy, it wasn’t hard to take a different perspective and find the good in all that happened because it’s like it was a different life. It was so long ago and because it doesn’t affect me day-to-day, I genuinely have managed to move forward and be grateful for the good.
My teen years were similar but harder.
By the time I got to my late teens – Magaluf – I was confident, almost cocky about my blog not causing me any pain. I felt on top of the world because I was proving that nothing could phase me.
Then, I wrote about Magaluf and that world I was on top of COLLAPSED. That posts effect on me was monumental. It made me feel like I had stood naked in a room of everyone who read my post or would ever read my post and described what had happened.
Since, I’ve been having a lot of bad days but a few good. I am writing about them in the hopes that owning the feelings will allow me to move forward with them. And then, I hope, from them. And of course, I am hoping that someone may understand and feel them too and then neither of us will have to feel so alone.
A few days after I wrote the post about the attack, I was scrolling through Facebook for photos of that time (to use in my next blog) and scrolled right into a photo of that old housemate. It felt like being that young, vulnerable girl all over again. For a few days, I am ashamed to say, I kept looking at that picture and hoping for answers or to at least see a sign in his face of what he was capable of.
I spoke to friends about this and was encouraged to stop looking, which I managed to do.
Then the anger started, I have been getting moments, sometimes hours at a time where there is so much anger flowing through my body that it hurts. All I want to do at those times is lash out but I know that I can’t.
That triggers the feeling of powerlessness for me, the fear that comes with that and the shame that comes with that.
Looking in the mirror at my own face has been a struggle – I feel like I don’t recognise myself right now.
I don’t really have the answers, or the ‘goods’ to share right now but here are a few things I’ve been doing to bring myself back;
- I’ve been forcing myself to look in the mirror, have photos taken of me. In the future when I look back to getting past this, I want to remember how I looked at the time.
- I’ve been getting myself out even when I am terrified of being there. I don’t want my life to pass me by.
- I’ve been opening up to my boyfriend and my friends as much as I can and trying to take their wise advise.
- I’ve been telling myself all of the things I would tell a friend in this situation. One day I will believe it.
I look forward to one day coming in here and writing about how I got through this and picking out the good in the situation.
But, for now, I am going to keep writing my story so that I don’t get stuck in one chapter.