This weekend felt like the end of the world. I was truly at the end.
I could not see beyond, or over to the other side. In fact, there was no other side.
PTSD and flashbacks twisting and stabbing their way through my flesh, sinews, tissue. Searing the core of me.
Forced sex, psychological subjugation render me a spineless, rag doll heaped in a corner.
Heaped in a corner, but there’s still hope. Still hope. I’m still here.
I had a mini meltdown yday. Haunted by scary, twisted dreams, waking up in a film of abandonment and betrayal.
PTSD doing its work.
Then my abusive x sent me a nonsensical email that not even my super clever friend could decipher.
He knows to not contact me directly. The court order he signed said it, my legal guy told him for 1 year, over and over, yet some people just dont get LEAVE HER alone.
It catalyzed all kinds of reactions, frozen on my sofa, unable to move. Stomach in knots, mind hurting, tears rolling.
Healing is a long, long path.
This friend sent me this lovely card reminding me of how bad things were last year.
Reminding me of her loving friendship. She believed me when many didn’t.
Reminding me that I have something so precious. My own home. Where I can be safe with my beautiful children.
It feels good to breathe in and out. To not be answerable. To be free to fail and fall.
To decide to let it go.
To not have to prove a point but just do what I can. To just want the simple things and go about my small time business.
Keep my head down and myself centred.
Christmas but comes once a year…
Trying to make it special, trying to meet psycho social, emotional, dietary,financial, needs, trying to enjoy, following my heart…
It all seems to contradict each other at the moment.
The happier I am, the more unhappy my family seem to be.
I just dont get it.
I think I just need let go. Let go of my control. Let go of my role.
Just see what happens.
If I free them maybe they won’t come back, maybe they will.
I need to let go…
Was so great to be in the presence of a dear friend today.
We need connection so very badly. All of us. No matter how much we may love our solitary sojourns, other voices keep us tied into a wider community.
I need the affirmation she gives me. It feeds me and strengthens me.
She’s always believed that I have been abused and that Faith in my Word is more valuable than Gold.
She’s always believed that I’m a good mother and again this contradicts my ex and the ICOC church that denigrates women to pre feudal times.
She’s always been adamant that I am capable of looking after myself.
Beautiful sentiments that keep me living and breathing.
Thank God I’m going out tonight. Hoping to find some positive energy to turn that down pression toward light and sun.
Winter is seeming to drain the life blood out of me.
This week feels like its put alot of us on the back foot
Days are hard and night seems to be the most inviting. Itching for unconsciousness to take me far away.
Ofsted under the brand spanking new framework put the whole school on heightened alert and tension.
Failing hot water drove me and the kids to biting one liners, filling up kettles and buckets with boiling water, incessant moaning and endless calls to the Council.
Proving I should retain child benefit that my ex is trying to take from me, find witnesses for an oncoming court case and fight for benefits that are my Right: enveloped me in mounds of hard, unsympathetic, blank, crackling, white paper – the canvass for hard evidence, I Must Find.
This is too hard.
It’s All on me.
4 hours of driving each day in a derelict car that needs daily top ups of water and oil filled me with exhausted numbness.
Couldn’t even write a blog. Couldn’t enunciate the sadness fog.
Can’t even find it in me to care if the Conservatives get in again, or look forward .. .
I am with my dear friend.
Have you ever felt like the broken you can only reveal itself in front of very special people?
I don’t even reveal this self to me.
Somehow, the honesty and realness of this connection means the painful stuff just oozes out.
I find myself behaving in strange ways that I don’t recognise…from the strong,independent, black, conscious, single mother I have been told I am.
I find myself filled with fear, a little girl, a baby sucking my thumb, I’m scared of being used, I’m scared to voice my feelings, I’m trembling to say ‘no, I don’t want this’.
Somehow, connecting with this traumatised child inside me is healing me, piece by piece.
Hearing her, holding her, accepting her is eschewing a new serenity.
Thank you Nikolas.