Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain

Okay. So. I haven't blogged anything in over a month. I guess the reason is that things are actually pretty good for me right now, I'm doing better than I have done in ages, I haven't self-harmed in well over three months, I get up, I go out, I sleep, I make plans, my life isn't exactly 'normal' but I don't feel like I'm constantly struggling just to keep breathing.

There is only thing that has happened recently that is threatening to take away this stability.

I turn 25 in a couple of weeks (how the fuck did that happen!?!) and a few weeks back I got the same letter that everyone else gets, asking me to make an appointment for a cervical screening.

My gut reaction was absolute panic and dread. The thought of it just made me feel sick and nothing has changed. I don't want to go. I just have this... feeling... that it will completely freak me out. I'm not an idiot, I know it's not going to be at all 'sexual' and that it's clinical and they're professionals and all of that crap, but it doesn't change the fact that it's a situation that will inevitably trigger shit off. It'll make me feel out of control of my body and what happens to it.

There is a history of female cancers in my family and I know, with every bit of rational thought inside of me, that I should make an appointment and get it done. But the fear is so genuine and deep that it just won't let go...

I know that what happened to me is probably on my medical records and that if I explained how I feel about it that they'll probably be extra nice to me but I don't want that either, I don't want to be fucking defined by what some bastard did to me when I was 17. But by not going, that's just as bad, that's giving him something else over me, it will no longer just be effecting my mental health, it will be putting my physical health at risk.

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.

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.

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.

Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever

I've started having rape dreams, nightmares, I wake up and I feel sick of the things that have come into my head during the night. I know I can't control it and I know that I shouldn't feel guilty about it but I do. I really fucking do. I wake up and I hate myself. I blame myself and shout at myself that I must be sick in the head to dream up such horrible things. I get so angry. I feel so ashamed.

Hardly any of the dreams involve things that have actually happened to me. The most vivid one was about a woman who tied me up and put tissue paper down my throat so I couldn't scream out without choking, It kept repeating over and over again on a loop. It was so real. I woke up and for most of the day I was convinced that it was real. That it had happened. I felt so dirty. The thoughts that I'm a whore get really, really intrusive and intense. I spend most of the time I'm awake going over and over in my head what did happen to me to try and make sense of it to myself, to see that the dreams are just dreams. That makes me feel fucking awful. I can't close my eyes without seeing his face. I try and describe it to myself and I get terrified. The rapes repeat over and over and over again. Then I go to sleep, eventually, and I dream up a whole lot of other crap.

Every night it takes me hours to get into bed. I sit in the dark huddled up and shaking. Trying not to cry. I am so scared of being asleep.

I've tried so many things. Sleeping tablets. Leaving the light on. Compulsive checking of doors and windows. Leaving the TV on. But nothing helps.

I feel like there's something wrong with me. That I am sick in the head and an evil person for having these dreams.

Loser. Liar. Faker. Phoney.

It took me three hours to work up the courage to go to bed last night. I wouldn't take my meds or turn the TV or the light off. The thought of being asleep made me want to cry. I feel so vulnerable right now. I have so much hatred inside me. Anger. Shame. Fear. Guilt. Everytime I close my eyes I can see the word WHORE as plainly as if it was burned onto my brain. I can't escape it. It hurts so much. To feel like a piece of meat. To feel like an attention seeking LIAR. Sometimes I am so convinced I've made this shit up. Or that it's somehow a way of cleansing myself from the reality of being a SLUT.

I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe

Today I went to the day hospital for the first time. It seems to be pretty much the same as it was when I went last time only with a lot more 'clients', the nurses and the structure haven't changed much. Today's group was on anxiety and I found it quite useful. I'm going three days a week for six weeks.

Afterwards, I went back to the hospital for ward rouind and... I'VE BEEN DISCHARGED! On the one hand I am really happy about it, on the other I am a little sad that I won't get to see the psychiatrist again because I really started to like her a lot, despite our 'history', she talks to you as if you're on the same level if you know what I mean. But I'm really, really glad that I don't have to go back to the hospital again.

I've come off Haloperidol completely now and I'm feeling really good about that. I haven't taken any in nearly a month and things seem to be under control on that front, and I think my mood has improved because I have more energy when I don't take it. I'm still being pescribed Zopiclone but I haven't taken any in over a week and I'm sleeping fine most of the time. I'm still taking Seroquel, Lamictal Mirtazapine and Paroxetine.

Tomorrow I am going to see my (new) CPN, I am hoping that she will have heard back from my therapy assesment by now. I am going to try and tell her about the abuse related anxiety I'm experiencing, and that sometimes I feel really unsafe during the night and end up sitting in the dark shaking. This is something that I feel like I need to work on, and something that I feel ready to work on, I want to prepare myself for the summer as best as I can and maybe if I tackle some of this stuff now before it gets to anniversary time then it'll give me a better chance at coping. This is why I am really hoping that she'd heard back from therapy.

Today is 40 days since I last self-harmed or drank. Overall I am feeling really positive. Some things are still really tough but I want to fight through those times, instead of wanting to run away and escape them. I am feeling rather inspired right now.