Love thyself

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I am in a bad mood rut.

Nothing that used to make me happy seems to make me happy anymore.

How much of this is because of what happened and how much is because I’m just prone to depression? How much of this is simply hating myself?

Hubby says I need to love myself. My boss told me I need to see the good in me.

So today I’m doing an exercise I read about- to list 20 things I think I’m good at.

  1. I’m organised
  2. I am thoughtful
  3. I am kind
  4. I care about people and do special things to make them happy
  5. I always look for the fairest way
  6. I am honest
  7. I am good with people
  8. I can draw reasonably well
  9. I can write well
  10. I can bake tasty treats
  11. I’m good at buying presents that are thoughtful
  12. I stand up against bullies
  13. I am calm in a crisis
  14. I can laugh at myself and life
  15. I am a hard worker
  16. I am always trying to be better
  17. I finished a good degree
  18. I have a good relationship with my parents
  19. I put others first
  20. Finding solutions

Okay. That was hard. And I think some are repetitive. And maybe I shouldn’t put others first?

I feel like I’m always doing little things for hubby to make him happy or things a bit easier for him. And he doesn’t return the favour. He says he doesn’t know how. And I know that his family weren’t the best influence on him. But we’ve been together long enough to him to picked up a few things. I have this high expectation of myself that translates to others. And trying to do things for other people and putting them first doesn’t make me happy. Because it doesn’t get reciprocated. And that makes me think that I mustn’t be good enough for them.

I never feel good enough. I feel defective.

I think I need to cut myself a break. Learn to love myself. Take better care of me. It’s the advice I would give to a friend. And I need to be my own friend right now. I’m all alone in this new place.

This past year has really made me question everything about myself. I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself like this. But these things have happened. And I need to come to accept them. Whether they were my fault or not. I can’t live like this. It’s not healthy or productive. I need to get back to me again. I need to feel I deserve to be happy again.

To be believed

todayiscancelled Rape , ,

One of hubby’s friends rang up a fortnight ago in the middle of the night, it was one of his mutual friends with my rapist, whom I had met previously. His friends basically turned their backs on him when it all went down so many months ago now, and right after we move across the country this phone call appears. I don’t believe in coincidences. It makes me very suspicious, anxious, that he is in the background pulling strings or digging for information. I believe he will have a fear of me reporting him and is smart enough to want to keep an eye on the situation.

His friend mentioned that he had heard what happened from H (let’s just call him H from now on) and that he had told him that ‘he had really fucked up.’

Of course he meant that he had lost his best friend rather than assaulted me. He painted the picture his way, as much as he could, with his friends. Of course of course.

So when hubby discussed with his friend over the phone what had really happened I was surprised by his basic acceptance that his long term friend had done this. I didn’t think he would believe me. And I still wonder if it’s all just a grab for information about our whereabouts. He even said that he is a ‘psychopath’ and is ‘smart enough to talk his way out of anything’. If these men knew what he was like why the fuck were they friends with him?

Another phone call today. It made me nervous. I am convinced I will not be believed. I always assume men will not believe me because there seems to be this view that women cry rape at every opportunity. Hubby gave me a reassuring smile and told me after the call that he was supportive and just checking up to see that he was okay, and that his old friends- who have made no attempt to contact him- think H is a cunt.

How very helpful.

It fucking horrifies me that H has discussed our ‘encounter’ with his friends. Painted me as some kind of whore.
I waited for my husband, waited for the right man because I didn’t want to share that experience with anyone I didn’t love.
Not religious at all. Just because I had the self worth to wait. And now I am some kind of slut.

Hubby says it doesn’t matter what they think. I will never see any of them again.

That’s probably true. But it still hurts. To have your reputation tarnished so.

But I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Of course the other aspect is always playing on my mind- at least recently. I can’t stop thinking about H’s memories. How he knows my naked body. And it makes me sick.

I wish he was dead.

Blame

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As I’ve said before I don’t think I’m moving forward with dealing with this because I blame myself. My partner is frustrated by my guilt. I say I think I deserved this to happen to me. He says that no one deserves that. I say that I was weak and naive and pathetic. That I was a soft target. He says that he was a professional psychopathic liar and that I was drunk and new to my own sexuality and inexperienced.

I hate to be weak, pathetic, inexperienced.

He says I should consider getting professional help.

That makes me feel more weak and pathetic.

Even though that is a perfectly reasonable suggestion. I feel like a failure in recovery as I was in preventing this attack.

I feel immense guilt for the problems we were having in our relationship. For being a soft target, wearing my heart on my sleeve. Trusting this man who was his best friend. I know I had reason to trust him. But I thought I was a good judge of character and I am not. I am weak. And stupid. I am broken and I can’t put myself back together because I feel that it was my fault for being so pathetic that I got broken in the first place.

I allowed this to happen to me. I wanted to be wanted and oh boy did I get that.

I fucking deserved it.

Nightmares, guilt, letting go

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I am thousands of kilometres from where it happened, months stand between then and now. But it doesn’t feel like my mind is any more distant from what happened. Or the aftermath. I’m having nightmares, I see him, he hurts me, my partner leaves me, I see the house as it was. It is always so real that I wake up with fear and tears and my heart racing in my chest. Today I cannot stop reliving what happened. I cannot stop blaming myself for it. Round and round in my head, blaming myself, guilt for what my partner has gone through, hatred of myself.

My partner says he has closed the book on that chapter of our lives. He has almost made complete peace with what happened. And that he hopes I move on with my life. Though we are clearly not at the same stage. I am glad that he is happy again. I see him light up more often now.

I feel like he wants me to ‘get over it’. I think that is harsh and not how he really thinks. But to say that he wants me to move on, feels too soon for me. Not something anyone else can tell me to do but myself.

I know I have to get past this guilt. That is what is blocking me from moving forward.
I was so naive. I was vulnerable because I placed too much self worth on the sex problems I was having at home. I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have drunk anything. I shouldn’t have trusted him.

I feel that my partner deserves so much more than me. So much more than some weak, pathetic, stupid girl. Who cannot get over this.

I don’t know how to get over this.

I deserve to feel guilty. That’s what my heart tells me.

My head tells me that he told me that he planned it, that he wanted it to happen. That he knew what was going on between my partner and I. That he was jealous of him. That he thought I was beautiful and sexy and smart. That I liked gaming and that made me special. That I wasn’t being appreciated. That he purposely got me so drunk I could barely move. That I was sick for three days afterwards. That he bruised and injured me so much that the photography took two hours to document. That I said no. That I said stop. That I told my partner as soon as I got out of there. Even though I thought he would leave me. That he deserved to know, to have the option to get away from me. That his own friends say that they believe that it is something he would plan and carry out. That he treats women like meat. That he is smart enough to talk his way out of anything. That the things he said to me that night, which are forever etched in my mind, were his way of making me believe that it was happening to me because I deserved it.

I don’t want to let him win. I don’t want to think about him or what happened. I don’t want to let it affect the rest of my life. I don’t want to have nightmares. I don’t want to get triggered by words and places and people who look like him. I don’t want any of this. I didn’t want any of this. I did not go with the intention of being with him in any way, shape or form. Revolting.

But it did happen. And I am still struggling with it.

Destined for sadness

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I think that I will never be happy again.

I think I am trapped by my own cynical mind.

This week has been hard. We moved thousands of km away from home. We both got sick. Hubby ended up in hospital for three days. I miss my family so bad.

I am not looking forward to starting work in January.

I am so tired and sad. I don’t want to make new friends. I don’t want to make conversation. I don’t even want to make eye contact.

But the hubby wants to make new friends. I know we should. Because it will be lonely otherwise.

But I am lonely anyway.

I am alone.

Insomnia

todayiscancelled insomnia, Rape , ,

Second night in a row and I can’t sleep. There is no comfortable position, no quiet in my mind. I feel restless inside, but my eyes are tired. Work in a few hours and I’m going to be a zombie all day. Can’t call in sick, not tomorrow.

Nothing to do here. Waiting in limbo to leave our house and move hundreds of miles away. Two weeks. So of course in the silence and darkness of the night I can’t help but remember why we toyed with the idea of moving in the first place. Because of him. I am all hatred and disgust and guilt.

How could I let this happen. How could I have trusted him. I wish I could erase my memory, go back in time and stop it from happening. Why can’t I stop going over all the things he said to me? Why can’t I turn off the record? Why can’t I stop seeing my bruised body in the mirror? Or feeling his hands on me in the dark?

When my partner is asleep I touch his face, to remind myself that it is him. To reassure myself that I am safe at home with my love.

This has so completely altered my life. I am afraid. I am scared.

I am scared of what I am capable of doing to myself.

I am scared that my partner will one day wake up and blame me for what happened. Terrified that he will throw it in my face during an argument. I don’t think I could survive.

I am all dread of the future. All the possible horrors that await us. I lie awake convincing myself that he would be better off without me, with someone who is not spoiled and broken. He gets upset when I talk like that to him. It scares him that I might leave. I am terrified that one day he will agree with me. He will wake up and look at me with the disgust I deserve and tell me to get the fuck out of his life. Tell me that I have ruined his trust. Betrayed him. That I am dirty and broken and useless. That I am weak. That it was my fault. That I should and could have prevented it.

But he would never do that. Why do I have to go over these hypothetical scenerios?

Another sleepless night

todayiscancelled Rape ,

Third time up out of bed. Cannot get to sleep. Feeling restless. Can’t stop my mind returning to the scene of the crime.

My dearest triggered me off around midday. He made a joke and grabbed me, but it pulled me back, like I was being sucked in by a vacuum. And he was so upset, and he kept saying “But it’s me!” and “I’m so sorry.” “I wasn’t thinking”

He tried to make me laugh. Making faces and sticking his finger up my nose. Then decided that he would cuddle me. He climbed on top of me and was joking around, just trying to make me laugh, trying to bring me back from the brink. But instead, his weight on top of me panicked me. I felt my heart speed up, I wanted to cry. Please get off, please stop, I’m serious.

He saw my face that I was freaking out. It didn’t matter that it was him. And it hurt him. But it wasn’t about him. My fear was already there, my alarm system was already going off. And I cried. I feel so guilty. And I’m glad he doesn’t think about it like I do. All the time. So sometimes he slips up and says something. The word rape. In a phrase. Or watching a movie where I fear the next scene will be an assault, I grip the arms of the chair. I grit my teeth. It is inescapable.

So now when I lie down to sleep, my mind whirls around the body memories and the words he said. The look on his face. The feeling of his hands. The pain. The blood. The immense weight of guilt.

I am frustrated. I have to live with this. It is like an axe hanging over my sanity. Held up by a spiders thread. Ready to come down on me whenever there is a mention, or an insinuation of rape or assault, whenever there is some body sensation that is similar, or a smell, a taste.

“Apparently Raped”

todayiscancelled Rape , ,

So I was at work today and one of the girls who works in reception was discussing adoption with the others. She said that she knew a woman who had given her child up for adoption because he was the product of rape.

“Apparently she was raped”. She stated. With the air quotes.

I scrunched my face up in disgust at the “apparently”

Obviously she hasn’t been raped. Which is a good thing. But she also has no insight into what it is like for people who have been raped and not believed. The worst.

She continued on her story about this woman, who had given up her baby to a cousin because she couldn’t bear to look at him. And this girl, and I say girl because she is 20 and seemingly naive, is just out there fucking judging her, basically saying she brought the pregnancy on herself, that she wasn’t really raped but was actually lying as an excuse to give up her baby because it was too hard. How awful. How fucking terrible that women are not standing up for each other.

To not be believed. To not be taken seriously when you have been violated in this way. It’s just not fucking acceptable. Not from your own gender, not from anyone. It’s fucking deplorable. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind. I wanted to slap her. Slap some IQ up into her tiny brain. How dare she assume that she was anything less than raped. How dare she gossip that this poor woman was using it as an excuse to give up her baby. It would have been the hardest decision of her life. It would have been heart breaking and soul destroying. The entire pregnancy would have been a constant reminder of what had occurred. The baby would have been a miniature version of her attacker. It would have been a living nightmare. And this girl reduced her story to an air quote.

Honestly. FUCK THE WORLD.

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I can’t sleep. Again.

There is a weight on my chest and thoughts in my head that will not rest.

It disgusts me that he has seen me naked.

That he has touched me.

That he will keep those memories forever.

They should not be his.

I am running from this place. Counting the days til we fly. 5 weeks.

But I am losing parts of myself. I am tearing myself from family and friends. Embarking on an entirely new life. And it is fucking terrifying. My friends will go on living as if I had never existed. What is the point? It’s like I’m dying and the world carries on. Undiminished by my passing. What is the point.

He says, but our lives go on too. He is right. But I am mourning the death of my old life. The one that died eight months ago.

I saw him.

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After a complete shit of a day at work I drove off from the car park, not even one street away when I saw him.

Casually walking up the road as if it never happened. On his way home from work, carrying on with his life like he hadn’t done a thing wrong.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him since it happened. And I was actually terrified. It didn’t matter that I was in a car and he was on foot. He must have seen me gaping at him. Horrified that he was there. My heart was racing, I started shaking. I was scared. I don’t know what I was scared of. But the whole way home I hung on to my sanity. I tried to push away the memories that kept slamming into my head. Flashes of him on top of me. That smell. His smell clinging to me. “I enjoyed myself” He said. “I wanted this to happen” he said.

I got home and sat in my car on the driveway. Trying to compose myself. Not wanting to expose my partner to this melt down. Not wanting to let myself melt down, not wanting to let him affect me! My partner came out and saw I was upset. I told him that I’d seen him and he held me til I was okay.

But this morning I drove past that same point on the road. The road I drive on every day. The road I’ve been on for months watching out for him. Dreading that I would catch a glimpse but being unable to stop myself from searching. And I got angry. Angry that he gets to carry on. That look on his face. He thinks he did me a favour. He thinks I was asking for it. He thinks that I wanted it to happen. He doesn’t think he did a thing wrong. What a fucking asshole.