Friday, 13 April 2012

You're hideous, you know that, right?

Does it ever go away? Like. At all.

Because everytime I think it's better something will happen and it's just there.

Today it was an unexpected bus route, being a stones throw away from the house that it happened, the pub, the pavement I sat down on with my friend waiting for his Dad to pick us up. Something broken. Something changed. The world. People. Myself.

And it's all happening again. Thoughts. Images. Smells. Sound. The sound of his voice. Do you like that?

I hate it and I get so fucking angry. That after all the time it isn't any better. It isn't any easier. It hasn't gone away.

So what?

Is this how it is forever?

The memories so close to the surface. Places you can't go past without reliving it.

Being broken, all over again, in a matter of minutes.

I have a new therapy assesment in a couple of weeks. I had every intention of going in there and spilling my guts. But now...

What's the point?

If I can't forget. If I can't somehow change the situation.

Then what good does crying about it with some stranger ever hope to achieve.

Tonight. I know I won't sleep. I won't let myself turn out the light.

And no matter how much I try and lose myself in a book. Or think about all the plans I have for the future.

Nothing will change how fucking scared and broken I feel right now.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

If he wants me broken, then I will have to be whole

I've been discharged from day treatment. I was ready. I'm well enough not to be there. In fact I am healthier and well-er than I've been since before last summer. I'm not self-harming (75 days). The only time I've drank I stopped after a couple because it just make me feel so sick. I'm sleeping fine, although still plagued with nightmares a lot of the time. I can count on one hand the number of days I haven't managed to get out of bed. My anxiety management is good. I haven't had any hallucination type things going on. I do dissociate, but not severely and not often enough for it to be considered a 'real problem'. I am well and reletively happy. I got through last week, the time that's the hardest second only to August, and it was nowhere near as painful or as hard as I expected it to be.

I may not well in the same way that 'other people' are well, but I am well for me.

And I finally got my appointment through to see the psychologst in a couple of weeks, which I am slightly less okay about, but want to do this, I really do.

Sunday, 1 April 2012

April is the cruellest month

Last night was punctured with bad dreams. S&M. Bondage. Torture. I'd wake up for a couple of minutes and it was like I'd forgotten how to breathe. The waking never lasted long, though, and almost instantly it was back into the dreams.

I woke up this morning and felt sick. Ashamed. Guilty.

I hate who I am. I hate what I've done. Betrayed by my own body. Betrayed by false promises. Betrayed by so called friends.

Inbetween the body memories the self-loathing is so intense.

I remember. I dissociate. I go numb. I don't want to feel. I can't feel.

On the outside everything is fine.

I don't drink.

I don't self-harm.

I talk. I laugh. I engage. I keep busy.

On the inside I am rotten. Ugly. Disgusting.

I will never forgive myself.

I will never forget.