I’m still having a tough time. Seem to be having quite a relapse with my depression. I thought it was getting under control. Guess I was wrong, but I suppose that’s to be expected. I’m not running away from my trauma anymore. I’m facing it. So I shouldn’t be surprised that most days it feels like a black cloud is hanging over me.
I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just know I’m not hiding from it. I’m accepting the pain. I know I need to face up to it, let it overwhelm me. I think I need to really feel it, let myself grieve, in order to be able to move forward properly.
At the same time, I know I can’t let my grief be everything there is in my life. I can’t think about it 24/7, I can’t allow myself to fall back into severe depression.
The other day I just lay in bed all day, didn’t do a thing, just lay in my bed staring at the ceiling. I cancelled all the appointments I had that day, including lip-reading, and just lay in my bed.
I can’t let this darkness be everything there is, but I also know I need to face it and not run away from it. It’s tough.
As I’ve mentioned, I’m so emotional at the minute. I killed a snail the other day. I trod on it by mistake and killed it. I ended up crying and feeling terrible – still feel awful about it. It was an accident. But I felt so guilty and just started crying. I do know that those tears weren’t really about the snail.
I read books that are sad and watch sad movies so I can cry. I can’t cry about my rape. I don’t know why, I just can’t seem to cry. I either feel tearful or numb, but I can’t seem to cry. But I know those tears need to come out somehow, so I read sad books, watch sad movies and the tears come. And while I feel bad about killing that snail (I’m a vegetarian, don’t even kill flies), I’m also aware that a lot of those feelings are about the rape, not the snail.
I’m seeing Jane on the 17th November. A long way away. I’m going to print off some of my latest diary entries and post them to her. I know this needs to be addressed. But I can’t bring myself to say it.
I have told a few people. But it takes a lot out of me to say those three words – I was raped. It’s extremely difficult to say. It’s easier to write, but still difficult.
I saw Lynsey today, she asked how I was, I said I was fine. I could have told her, she would have supported me. She would have held me and hugged me and been there for me. But I didn’t say how much I’ve been struggling recently.
Why? Why didn’t I say anything? Because it makes it more real, because I feel like I should have ‘dealt with it’ 5 years ago when it happened.
Anyway. It was nice seeing Lynsey. She’s not feeling great though. She’s in a lot of pain at the minute and has developed sores on her body. The doctors aren’t sure what they are, they figure they’re down to stress and generally being run down. She also thinks she has a partially collapsed lung (simple pneumothorax). She’s had it before and says it feels the same. She’s got an appointment next week to see the doctor.
I worry about her so much.
Went out on Friday night with Katie. It was her fiance’s birthday. Hadn’t met her before, but was invited to the party. I was going to cancel. Was feeling so down and just couldn’t be bothered. Wanted to stay in bed and do nothing.
Then I realised I can’t succumb to the depression. I can’t spend my entire life in bed and forget the world, as much as I want to.
So I went out, and had a nice time. Am glad I went.
I’m reading a book called ‘Cleo’ by a woman called Helen Brown. It’s an amazing book, a true story, about her life after the death of her eldest son, and how a tiny kitten, Cleo, manages to help heal the family. Anyway, there’s two paragraphs that just sprung out to me.
People persuade themselves they deserve easy lives, that being human makes us somehow exempt from pain. The theory works fine until we face the inevitable challenges. Our conditioning of denial in no way equips us to deal with the difficult times that not one of us escapes.
Cleo’s motto seemed to be: Life’s tough and that’s okay because life is also fantastic. Love it, live it – but don’t be fooled into thinking it’s not hars sometimes. Those who’ve survived periods of bleakness are often better at savouring good times and wise enough to understand that good times are actually great.
How true is that? I’m going through a rough patch right now. But that just means that in the future, I’ll recognise the good times as great times.
It’s almost 3.30am. I’m so tired, but am scared to fall asleep. Almost every night I’m having nightmares about rape or violence in general.