Always There

When you took everythingan unwanted gift remainedthe darkness and the painit's always there
When boiling waterrains down my bodycan't take away the factit's always there
When elusive laughterspreads across my faceim quickly brought backit's always there
When darkness fallsand sleep evadesI feel your touchit's always there
When silver flashesand the red river flowsonly numbs brieflyit's always there
When i forget for a seconda trigger breaks freeit comes back to meit's always there
When healing progressesIm two steps backYour gift weighs heavyit's always there
When life gets hecticthere's little time to thinkyet still somehowit's always there
When I'm called a survivorConfusions left behindHow is this surviving?it's always there
No matter how hardi try to move onit's always there...
...what's the point?

Secrets Bound - Drawing

Representation of my heart

After The Storm

Well my anniversary didn't exactly go to plan, decided i couldn't cope with it and smartly *sarcasm* chose to overdose on sleeping tablets. I spent over 30 hours knocked out in my bed, so technically i didn't have a one year anniversary, it didn't exist and i didn't have to deal with it .... seems to be the story of my life lately! Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz!


The days after have been hard, this week i had a very tough therapy session where she forced me to look forwards and write down 'where i am heading,' something i find very difficult as i don't envision much of a future for me. Being positive and hopeful is something i seem to really avoid. I lack the energy and drive to put effort into trying to heal and therefore it seems like I'm forever standing in the same spot, moving neither forwards nor backwards. Where do you find the drive to heal when you have little worth for your life? What is it exactly I'm supposed to be fighting for? What is it about life that is god damn great??....


... today i saw in my local news a story about a young man in my town jailed for five years for sexually assaulting five girls under the age of sixteen, i read on in the story only to read it's someone I KNOW! Someone i used to hang around with when i was younger, a 'really nice' guy who was very clever with lots of ambition. Apparently he's now a music teacher and it was his students he abused. I feel so physically sick, i keep looking at his mug shot photo, i can't help it! There are a lot of things on my facebook about it at the moment, angry facebook status' which led me to being really upset. Im so pleased that these girls have gotten justice, I'm happy everyone has seen him for the sicko he really is, I'm happy people are calling him out on it on facebook but with that happiness also comes a great deal of personal sadness. Perhaps even a selfish kind of sadness .... that i never got this recognition! 'His' name was never published in the papers, 'his' crime was never shared for the world to see, i never had people sticking up for me and i never had the justice i so wanted and deserved... perhaps this is a selfish thought but i can't help but be overwhelmed with jealousy for those very few people who do get justice, validation and perhaps a sense of closure.


I see a great amount of evil in this world, and my eyes have been opened up to more horrors that you don't hear about in the news, the more 'silent' world of sexual and domestic abuse...


Why would i want to live in a world this cruel?

The Twenty-three Hundred Hour Storm

She leaves her friend after a pleasant evening of hot chocolate, marshmallows and a good romantic comedy.


Saying farewell at the door she glimpses the raging storm outside - heavy rainfall, thunder and high speed winds - oddly peaceful and comforting. She smiles to herself as she makes a run for it, becoming impossibly soaked in just a few short seconds. Collapsing into the drivers seat she has a quick glance in the rear view mirror, as usual a stranger stares back at her. The unknown girls brown hair is windswept and and clumped from the large droplets of rain and her dull blue eyes are smeared with black mascara at the edges. She recalls a time when these eyes sparkled, like diamonds in the rough... but she knew this girl had long disappeared, unsure of when or if she'd see her again. Attention from the mirror is quickly withdrawn and she flicks to her favourite track on the CD currently in the player; starting the ignition and turning on the lights, she drives.


Driving home in adequate spirits she braves the weather and rolls down the window slightly to have a cigarette. Softly singing to the song echoing through the vehicle she drives through the torrential rain fall, windscreen wipers at full speed. As she turns a corner a carefully aimed swoop of wind drives water directly through the window splashing on her face. She laughs to herself as her face drips with rainwater. Continuing the drive and nearing home another smaller burst of rain manages to rocket through the small gap in the window and splashes on her face. Suddenly she is without breath. Her heart rate increases and the dull blue eyes widen in horror as a memory comes to the surface. A memory where a diamond blue eyed girl meets up with a new male friend in her car and they go for a drive in the rain.


Unable to see through the rainfall they park down a side street, enjoying the loud noise of the rain bouncing off the car roof. So much laughter, so much good conversation. At the time her old banger vehicle had a leak and water started to seep through the light in the roof, dripping onto her face. The man finds this hilarious. They both laugh as the water continues to drip from the roof of the car, splashing them as the droplets fell. He wipes the water off her face and smiles at her. She feels so safe around him.


As soon as the memory had come it quickly dissolved, leaving the girl barely breathing. Her smile has faded, her dull blue eyes now grey and her hands tightly grip the steering wheel.  To an outsider this would be perceived as a happy memory, but not to the dull eyed girl. Driving home in a trance-like-state, flash-cards of more images, memories, are burned into her eyes. Like quickly flicking through a photo album, still frames of a certain memory darted across her field of vision. These images were far from happy. Time had fast forward and the location had changed but they involved the same two people, the male friend and the girl with diamond blue eyes.  The images held many secrets, secrets that were buried, secrets to painful and unimaginable for the girl to envision. She tried to fight the images off, knowing ultimately what the ending would be, but this time she couldn't fight it. The final image showed the sparkle drain out of the girls eyes....


Pulling up on the street to her house she turned off the ignition and sat their frozen. Rain pellets belted the front window and danced down the glass, mirroring the tears now waltzing down her face. She was angry at herself for allowing the nearly one year old images to play through her mind. The truth was unacceptable and incomprehensible, it needed to stay locked in its Pandoras Box... despite this belief she heard a quiet voice, shouting from a dark deep place inside her soul,
'Say it, admit the truth, just say it, say it out loud'.
She tried to  obey the tiny voice and whispered,
'I was..., I was....', but the final word escaped her.


Distressed and vulnerable, she did what she does best and locked up Pandoras Box. The 23:00 hour storm that brought this brief moment of clarity calmed down and she walked up the back to the safety of her home.


The tiny voice inside her soul shook its head and exclaimed 'I will try again tomorrow....'
The memories sunk back to depths at which they came from...

Monster

Monster

You didn't hide behind the closet

Never concealed yourself in the shadows

Hiding your truth in plain sight

Utilising your mask well, obscuring the monstrosity of your very nature

Left no one questioning, Clever little monster

Your evil soul lurked in the depths

Your kind smile deceiving well

The verbal vomit of your lies

Covering the darkness of your truth

Naive girl, how was I to tell?

Upon completion of your web

You knew you had me trapped

Those poisoned lips infected me

Planting memories inside my head

Lying wounded, slowly dying on your bed

You fed the monster that lives within you

It was I who was your prey

An unlikely weapon destroyed me

Forever fearful of mans capabilities

Life affected until the end

Hunger satisfied you buried the monster

How long down there would It stay?

Your angelic face returned

To pledge it's eternal woe

Claiming not to be the monster I had now come to know

Your venom coursed through my veins 

Destroying all sanity and intelligence

For a time the misty haze swarming my brain denied me of the truth

Clarity intact, your venom now grants me the gift of seeing the hidden monster

The monster who ate me alive but refused to swallow.

Keeping me alive, was your greatest evil.

Written today on my eleven month anniversary. Copyrighted

Writers Block

Posting on my blog has been difficult for me of late. The same can be said for a survivor support forum i regularly use. I remember a time when i would reach out all the time! Post whatever is running through my mind in hope for some support from a kind stranger. Its getting harder and harder to reach out. The only person i am truly honest with is my therapist...in fact even that is a lie, i'd say I'm 80% honest with her. I lie to everyone now.
'How are you doing?' 
'Yeah I'm okay thanks, how are you?' - Why is it so damn hard to just tell the truth! 


I get so frustrated with the people who are aware of what's going on with me, they often just accept that answer and ask no more questions. I feel like they should know I'm not okay, they should know when i don't want to talk, and when in fact i'd like to but perhaps scared to bring it up incase of bringing a downer to the conversation. I know i can't expect people to be psychic but i'd like to think at least the people in my life who know me well, know enough to know when i am not okay!


I guess what's got me thinking about this, is my anniversary. 11 month anniversary. Tomorrow.


I am dreading the stroke of midnight on my clock-face.


Each time i don't know how I'm going to get through the day. Things would be so much easier, so much more peaceful if when i went to sleep...i never awoke the next morning. The hardest thing about tomorrow is knowing its my last 'month' anniversary. The next one is one year. One Year. I know for sure i can't survive this one. The week before my family are going away to Spain, they will be back for the 23rd but (and i'd never admit this to them) I'm scared of them leaving in the approaching week. Because I'm scared of what i may be capable of doing. My mum has been begging me to try to find some money to go with them, i know this is because she is afraid to leave me alone.


If anyone has any advice on how to get through the month of October and the 23rd, please let me know. I'm drowning here.


.....Wake me up when October ends.....

Time Flies...

They say time flies when your having fun, and the bad days seem to never end. I have found this well known quote to be completely way off reality. Next month will mark one year since my assault and everyday has been a living hell and yet it has flown by scarily fast. It seems like the incident happened only a few months ago. On a really bad day, the minutes seem to tick by slowly but then at the end of the day i realise its actually gone really fast. I feel like i have lost an entire year of my life. Not only have I lost myself, but i am also loosing time.

That bastard has taken away my time. Its overwhelmingly scary when you start to do a tick list of all the things that have been stolen from you, it seems impossible to take them all back. If i am honest i don't think they can be taken back.


In therapy i often discuss with my Therapist about my future, or lack of one. Last week she asked me to draw how i see myself now, and how i see myself in the future. For the how i see myself now i drew a question mark, a large black scribble of mess and a stickman dead at the bottom of the ocean, ball and chain around it's leg. Naturally my therapists interpretation was dead on (no pun intended). I know there something holding me back, something that is stopping me from moving forwards in my healing, what it is...i do not know. My therapist said once we are able to undo the chain which is holding me to the sea bed, i will slowly start to find myself again and begin to heal. She said my soul is not dead, but that it is off somewhere and slowly i will start to find it again and take back what has been taken. This is one the few times i completely disagreed with her.


I have started to realise (and i am not saying this is true for everyone) that when a trauma so huge happens to someone it is literally like it has killed them. I have had many survivors explain their trauma like 'a murder where there was no literal death'. When someone has died, there can be no resuscitation. I believe this is true with me. My soul has not simply 'gone away for a while'. It is dead, lying in the vegetation at the bottom of ocean. He killed me. I think - for me - it's not about getting back that girl i was before the rape (i'm not sure i'd even want to be that weak vulnerable naive girl anyway) it's about creating a new one. A new me. Trouble is sometimes it makes me so angry that the girl i have been for 22 years is suddenly gone along with all her hopes and dreams. Now all i have to work with is this empty shell. My therapist found this analogy interesting and could understand where i was coming from. She said 'isn't a blank canvas exciting, think of all you could create for your "new" self and the woman you could become'. Personally i think it seems like a lot of fucking hard work (excuse the curse!). 


It begs the questions:

• how do you live when you are already dead?
• how do you start over and create a new self?
• how do you know you will like the person you end up becoming?

It also makes me wonder, if rapists truly take a persons life (which i believe they do) then why on earth when it comes to our justice system do they not get given life sentences! IF they are even convicted, which there is a despicable 6.5% chance of, the average sentence is four years, meaning they are out in two years. TWO years for taking anothers life. People get more for driving offenses. The world is a f'd up place!

What's wrong with me?

I think something is seriously wrong with me.

Today i worked at a place ive never worked before, at a low secure units for criminals who have mental health issues.
I started the shift nervous - as it was all male criminals - but ending up being fine, they were all really nice and friendly, lovely to me, made me drinks. Then i asked the nurse about the unit and she told me about it, said if im interested to read their files....

Well first the guy i'd just been chatting for ages was a baby killer, murdered his baby boy  (in his bad mental health state thought he was the devil and killed him)
And then i find out there is a rapist and a man who indecently has exposed himself to his children in the past.

I now have to work with these people. Weird thing is, on another ward about a month ago, i encounted a child molester, it made me so ill, and i refused to nurse him and stayed far far away from this creep, made so uncomfortable. This time.....it didnt phase me! WHY!!!

Is it because i am so disconnected from everything? from my R*? from other people's R*?
Both these incidents were many many years ago and they had both served time for it, they were now serving time for things like stealing etc and were in the unit due to the mental issues they had. But thats besides the point, these people have seriously affected someone elses life, regardless of how long ago it was, regardless of the fact they had served there time. For some reason the fact they were sexual offenders didnt seem to connect in my head....i even played pool with one of them!!! I was thinking i should beating the shit out of this guy with the pool que and yet the feelings of hatred and disgust just didn't connect. WHY! I feel like a freak, i feel like ive betrayed myself and all other survivors out there. Its so hard because its my job and i cant just ignore these people and treat them like shit, but what is bothering me is the fact that it all just didn't phase me. Didn't affect me.

What also is making me feel so disgusting is the fact there was a staff member there that looked quite a bit like my rapist. At first i had a mini attack but then calmed myself down assuring myself it wasn't him. But then he kept coming over and talking to me. He was nice. Whats worse is...i kind of fancied him. WHAT?! i fancied a guy who looks a bit like my rapist! I mean my rapist was tall, dark and quite good looking (what i normally go for) and there are a lot of people who obviously will look like him, and its freaking me out the fact that i am going to be attracted to these people? This is so messed up and confusing me and making me feel so disgusting. But then i can hardly go and change my type in men? Im so sorry to be ranting, im probably not even making any sense, ive just walked through the door in such a daze, i cant explain my behaviour today and its making me hate myself even more. I feel so dirty and disgusting.

Please can someone help me make sense of all this, i feel like such a disgusting freak.
It's almost like i was fine at work, but now im at home the truth is starting to sink in and i feel myself becoming triggered by todays events, i think its going to be a bad night

Please if you dont hate me for how ive behaved today...please sit with me

BOOM!

Yesterday was my 10 month anniversary.


I was so dissociated and disconnected that a few days back somehow i managed to book an afternoon shift at work on that date.I woke up in the morning feeling so down and like i just wanted to sleep and never wake up. So i laid between the sheets and went back to sleep. At 12pm my alarm went off for work. Feeling this crappy i didnt want to go to work. But i got up, I turned off my alarm and saw the date....then it all clicked. No, more like exploded. BOOM. memory, memory, flashback, memory. Being so disconnected meant i now had to go to work on my anniversary. I didn't know how i would get through, especially when it turned 6pm...roughly when the assault happened. But i had to go, so i went.


My tactic was to continue using a tool i am very good at. Dissociate from the date and what it meant to me. I spent the shift trying to push down all the stuff that was trying to seep out of my subconscious. I made it to 6pm which is when luckily they sent me on my break. I just sat in the staff room staring into space like a brain dead zombie. Thinking about what was happening at this time 10 months ago. I felt so empty and lifeless, i felt no pain, no emotion, nothing. Is that normal? Shouldn't i have been distraught and crying, feeling sick, shaking? Thats how they normally go! On the one hand i am so fed up of being disconnected from it all but then on the other hand i know I AM the one that keeps myself disconnected, because sometimes when the connections start to form i can feel myself disconnecting them again. Why am i doing this??


I made it to the end of my shift and came home at 9.30pm. Got in between the shifts, and talked to a fellow survivor online. Shed some tears with her.


What scares me the most about anniversaries is that it is month closer to the one year mark. Something i am TERRIFIED of. My next anniversary will be 11 months....the next,....1 year! I don't understand how it has almost been a year, that seems impossible, it feels like only three months ago. Where has this time gone??


I am curious as to when its  been one year, do begin counting your anniversary as years now rather than months? Cause i have a feeling im going to still be counting the months (13 months, 18, months, 24 months). Is that strange and obsessive? At what point does it become yearly? Because monthly ones are damn exhausting!

Little Red

Little Red

There once was a girl full of hopes and dreams

Saw the world through pure eyes, complete at the seams.

Heart of gold,

Smile of an angel,

that anyone who tried to take was not able.

With sparkling blue eyes, believing good conquers evil,

Fairytales were reality, no one was deceitful.

Untill this girl turned twenty one, the promise of fairytales was soon gone.

The castle crumbled

the prince did not show

She tumbled into the dark rabbit hole below.

Little red, little red

Don't blame yourself

for all thats dead

his smiling lie

that wolf was cunning

from his evil your now running

Bleeding, wounded

Oh little red

Its not your fault

Its not your fault

Left with the destruction, red cape on the floor

Her heart understands, red is here no more.

The wolf walked free with all he took,

Shes nothing left to give

She curls into the darkness

She has no strength left to live

The castle's burning bright, this hole is six foot deep

At the bottom lies her secret, she feels she has to keep.

Settling for this world of grey,

shes afraid to to start the climb

Just wait, little red there is strength in your tears

Just breathe, one day,

You'll be okay.

Little red, little red

Don't blame yourself

for all thats dead

his smiling lie

that wolf was cunning

from his evil your now running

Bleeding, wounded

Oh little red

Its not your fault

Its not your fault 

Lights, Camera....FACE!

I haven't spoken much about the events that brought me to blogger, or what happened on that fateful day. I have a hard time accepting the truth, it's kind of hard to write about when you feel like what your writing never happened. But tonight i find myself awake thinking of one moment. A moment that on the 23rd of October, maybe lasted less than 20 seconds. The moment i tried to escape from my attacker.


It's got me thinking about that moment in many horror movies where the girl, the victim, makes a break for it. Usually its a hot skinny blonde with ginourmous boobs, running in some scary woods wearing nothing but an oversized male shirt. The stereotypical murderer with some freaky-ass mask and terrifying weapon is lurking near by. Before she tries to escape she's normally hiding somewhere, trying to assess the situation, assess the amount of danger she is in. By this point she is afraid but not completely sure about what the hell is going on and just how much danger she is in. Amid the confusion something inside of her tells her there's a good chance she's going to get really hurt. Flight or fight mode kicks in, and typically, shes tries to escape....


....In that moment, she is grabbed from behind and pulled back. Always in movies the camera focus' on the girls face, never the attacker, always the victim. Because her face tells a thousands words, you can see the look in her eyes that she knows she is about to get hurt. That face can be pretty terrifying, more terrifying than the axe murderer in fact. Some actresses are pretty good at pulling this horrific 'face' off. I wonder if in real life anyone has ever caught on camera the real look of a person who is about to be pulled back. The look of the girl who knows what comes next. 


In my story there is no ugly mask murderer, there are no woods, there is no fake boobed blonde bombshell. But there is the attempt of escape. Injuring myself as i tried to slip from his clutches. There is the moment i felt his hands grab my waist and pull me back and im pretty certain....there is that face.


No one knows what my face looked like, i couldn't see it, 'he' couldn't see it, there were no audience who could see it. I can't help but think about what it might have looked like.


My mum has often said to me that no one will ever truly understand the horrors of what happened to me on that day, in that room because no one else was there. If it were in a movie, would they be horrified? Would they be afraid for me? Would they cover there eyes with their hands whilst still peering through the gaps in their fingers so they don't miss what's happening? Would they understand better the trauma that consumes me each and every day? Perhaps they wouldn't find it that scary, i often minimise and invalidate my experience to myself maybe there is a reason why i do that, maybe it wasn't all that bad? There was no axe murderer, there was no weapons used, there was no blood curdling scream.


Is it strange that i sometimes feel the desire for people to see it, to see their reaction? 


I guess this is me looking for validation again! A stage i can't seem to pass. I don't know how to begin accepting what has happened to me and validating to myself, that my experience WAS bad, that it WAS horrific and that i have every right to feel hurt and traumatised...


and most importantly, have the right to heal.


I don't think i will ever watch horror movies in the same way as i used to. I don't think i can ever forget the look upon their faces. THAT is where the horror in horror movies come from. Next time you watch a  horror, don't fear the bad guy.....fear that face.

Stuck in the Greyness

Therapy last week was interesting and quite insightful. It's amazing the power of guided imagery, seems to work well with me and helps me understand the place I'm at. I begun in a bright, sunny and warm field. I was led to a forest with a path running through it. The forest was beautiful, was shaded. Completely safe and peaceful. I could hear the birds singing, feel the warm breeze blowing through the trees. I came to a stream, trickling through the forest with a tiny waterfall. Here there were many butterflies, flying free all around. I was instructed to carry on following the path when I came to the edge of the forest, looking out onto a large open field. My therapist stopped instructing me and asked me what I saw...

I saw a massive field. It was completely empty and the vegetation was dead. I could see the brightness of the sun but couldn't feel the warmth. It was eerily silent. For some unknown reason the field frightened me. I felt threatened, as if I was being watched. I could just make out some hills in the far distant, but I knew I couldn't make it across this field. I just stood on the very edge. Staring outwards.
My therapist asked me to take a step forward onto the field. I told her I couldn't, I wasn't sure what would happen when I took that first step but I knew it wouldn't be very pleasant. I was not able to move forwards.

Knowing I couldn't step forwards my therapist asked me to turn around and go back into the comfort of the woods. As I tried to turn back I found my path blocked. A large stretch of glass prevented me from going back. I could see what lay behind me but couldn't get there.

She instructede to break the glass and return to the safeness and protection of the woods. She led me back through the woods, back to the stream. She asked me how I felt in the woods. I said safe, protected, calm, comfortable. She said if I could have any animal with me, what would it be. For some reason tiger popped into my head. I guess i thought of Princess Jasmine in Aladdin, a sweet cuddly tiger and yet with the ability of protection. The tiger could be my friend, he would protect me. I was then led out of the woods and back to the sunny warm field where I originally started.I then opened my eyes and came out of the guieded imagery.


My T explained that she picked up from the sesaion my fear of beginning to deal with what has happened to me. At the moment I am stuck in a sort of limbo, she called this the Greyness. I am completely comfortable in this Greyness of denial repression and dissociation. I want to move forwards, to begin dealing with and processing the trauma locked inside my brain, but i am afraid to. Scared of what i will find, what may happen. I am unable to turn back now because the past is the past, but im also unable to move forward. She explained she pictured the future as colour, all the colours of the rainbow swirling around together in a big confusing mess. There is lots to sort out. Right now i am happy being numb and comfortable in the greyness.Sometimes being in the Greyness it's easier to repress and forget, sometimes I find myself smiling and even occasionally laughing! I know it's only possible due the disconnection from my trauma, I guess I'm afraid to loose that again and go back to the dark days between the sheets.

I find it amazing that all of this insight can come from guided imagery. I see things the way i never saw them before, i understand the way my brain is functioning at the moment all by describing the images i see in my head.

My therapist told me from now on, whenever i have a nightmare, a flashback or scary thoughts to picture me with this tiger, that i am safe and he is protecting me. I have actually been doing this and it does help, perhaps you the reader might wish to try something like this?

This was a nice guided imagery experience, i have had bad ones in the past. My therapist now wants to work on taking the steps out of the greyness. She wants me (if i am able to) to write out my story, and every thought and every feeling, every inch of me poured out onto the paper and then asks me to read it aloud. She said it might help me connect with whats happened and begin to recognise that this did happen to me.....sounds pretty optimistic if you ask me. I so want to move forward and yet i admit.....im pretty stable in my denial bubble.

'Too unpleasant to remember, to tragic to forget'

Apologies for not posting recently, a lot has come to my attention since this whole mess with the CPS. I thought it was my anti depressants keeping me numb, stopping me from feeling and causing everything to become repressed. Recent events have made me realise I was partially responsible for being numb and brushing it all under the carpet. To be honest i'm scared to let it out...it just might kill me.


I want to share with you a quote from a good friend of mine 'Too unpleasant to remember, to tragic to forget' it is relatable to this post. I want to share how i had the epiphany that it was I who was repressing everything going on inside of me.


In therapy I'm always moaning about how numb i feel. How i crave to cry over what i have been through, how i want to face it all, sieve through it and begin to process it all so i can move on in my healing journey. I have always blamed this on my antidepressants, i even begged my GP to half my dose so i could feel something, anything. After being this way for a while my therapist suggested guided imagery. She warned it could open me up and bring out some things and that she wasn't sure if i was ready. I said i was fed up of being numb and ready to start dealing with it all.


The session begun with me closing my eyes and relaxing into my chair. I did deep breathing exercises to the sound of her voice until i was completely relaxed. She then guided me into a circular room, there were no doors or windows, it was completely empty. She then begun asking me questions about what i could see, hear, smell, touch in the room. At first i found it difficult, seeing nothing. Then out of no where.....i saw it. At the opposite end of the circular room was a white bed, 'thee' white bed. It was clean, plain and bright white, almost clinical looking. The bed sheets on the bed were ones i recognised. Immediately tears welled up in my eyes, something which hadn't happened for a while. She asked me to go sit on the bed. I said i couldn't. Instead she told me to walk over to the bed, she guided me step by difficult step until i was stood next to it. I could feel my hands start to tremble. Whilst i was there she asked me what i felt when i looked at this bed, i replied with coldness, hatred and emptiness, i wished the bed didn't exist. She told me to burn the bed, asked me what i want to use as fuel, i used petrol, i flung it all over the bed until the canister was empty, then i lit a match and slowly flicked it onto the bed. The bed was quickly ablaze, bright reds yellows and oranges engulfed the bed. Oddly the fire was cold, i felt no heat coming from the flames. Suddenly to my left a door appeared in the room, i walked out of it shutting the door behind, it lead me onto 'his' landing. I ran down the stairs and out the front door onto the street where i walked away leaving the burning bed behind. I was then brought out of my relaxed state.


After this i was asked to draw the first thing that came into my mind. This is what i drew:

The white bed but without any detail (detail makes it more real) the slant of 'his' wall and the blue colour of the walls. All surrounded by a dark mass of evil, terror, pain and hurt. It's strange how an object can have such a massive impact, i wonder what it would say if it could talk? The dark memories it holds. I despise this bed, i wish i could burn it for real, i hate that it exists.


After therapy i was very shaken up but pleased i had unlocked something. My therapist said she was proud of me as i had never mentioned anything about 'it' before. I felt i had achieved something. On the drive home however things changed, i suddenly got the imagine in my head of sprinklers coming on and putting out the fire  , when it was diminished the bed remained. It was black and burnt....but it remained. Then out of no where i experienced the worst body memory i have had in a long time. I couldn't get away from his touch. It was there, it felt so real, i freaked out and had a major panic attack luckily managing to carry on driving. When i got home it felt like there were so many images pushing against the side of brain trying to force their way out, i fought really hard to keep them at bay, suppressing them into my subconscious and then it hit me. It was ME that was suppressing it all along. I'd just been doing it without realising, now it had been brought to my attention, i knew it was me. Sure the antidepressants played their part in keeping me numb but they weren't the sole cause. My body had had too much and gone into complete shutdown and i was so terrified of facing it all again that i just started running. Running from the memories, from the hurt and the pain, running from my trauma with the legal system. I've realised that i haven't been ready to face it all, i really want to face it and deal with it, but perhaps I'm just not ready to. Unfortunately now with my meeting with CPS happening on friday i am forced to face it all again, to re-live it, to talk about what happened when i haven't uttered a single word of the incident for seven months now.


To say i am terrified is an understatement.

Dear 23

23 is all I see,
That number rips a hole in me.
Sends me shaking,
Breathing fast
A reality I find hard to grasp.


23 I dread its arrival,
Between the sheets is key to survival.
Refusing to leave, 
Despite my will
23 It haunts me still.


23 I know your face,
I'm used to being in this place.
Staring up,
The ceilings black
Trying desperately to not look back.


23 Makes dark memories stir,
Reality around me becomes a blur.
3, 2, 1, time travelling back,
No escaping
I'm forced to look back.


23 Please make it stop,
Nightmares, flashbacks
Memory attacks.
All these thoughts within my mind,
Feels like they'll never subside.


23 Your silence screams loud,
Unwanted ghost I hope your happy
I hope your proud.
The tortured girl within my soul,
Never again shall be whole.


Dear 23, because of you,
And all that you have put me through
This girl is hanging,
by a thread
how has she survived? how is she not dead?