I was taking a shower today, after running around my house getting everything in it's place, when I started being bombarded with memories. Bad memories.
I started asking G-d, "Why me? What did I do? How is this my lot in life? Why do I have to deal with this? Why did you not just let me die?" etc., etc.
About two questions in, I could feel my heart pounding, breath getting shallow and quick, eyes went into tunnel vision. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I couldn't calm the anger and the hurt. The next 30 minutes consisted of me yelling, praying, sobbing, shaking, hyperventilating, and shaving my legs... all at the same time. How do I manage to be such a great multi-tasker? I have no idea.
I keep thinking about what I want to say, in case my reports ever go to trial. I want to say so much, but I know I will freeze on the stand and my brain will freeze if I begin to draft my victim impact statements now but boy, can I scream everything I need to say when I'm in the shower!
Exboyfriend's town called a couple days ago telling me they had gotten a report from College Town that I had been sexually assaulted (raped) in their town. College town had no jurisdiction in Exboyfriend's town and so it had to be transferred.
I've been dealing with that for a week. At first I was nervous about how this would effect him, then I remembered how much his actions have effected me and my whole life. He forever changed the course of my life with his poor choices that weekend. Oh, I wish I would have kicked him, fought him, and called the cops right then. Unfortunately, I was completely in shock. I was paralyzed and in a daze that whole weekend.
Because of Exboyfriend, I met Exfiance. He didn't introduce me, but I was going out a lot, looking for a good time to get away from the terrors living and replaying themselves in my head constantly.
It's crazy to think that one person can make you hate yourself. They can make you hate your body, your memory, your life, and hate the fact that you wake up each morning to fight another losing battle of a day. They can make you hate yourself enough that you stop feeding your body, you start taking pills, smoking, cutting, or otherwise abusing the very vessel that holds the essence of who you are. One person's choices can make you fight to not pick up the bottle, not down the pills, not pull the trigger, and not crash into a ditch.
So now, I am here. A shell of who I used to be. I can never me back. I can never have the same ability to see the best in people. I can never have the same easy smile and no assumptions that people are only out to hurt me. I can never feel pure, whole, and complete. I can never erase the memories. Who knows if I have some disease that I won't be able to get rid of in addition to the rest of it.
It makes me wonder why we, as a collective people, fight so hard to keep people from suicide. Not saying I would do it, but I understand what it is like for me to not want to wake up another day. Why do we insist on saving those who so clearly see no point in being here on this earth? Why do we call the police if someone is talking about suicide at home/work or place patients on a 72-hour hold at hospitals if they come to us saying they want to die? Why do we put people on antidepressants? Which can potentially make the suicidal ideations worse and help give the people enough energy to go through with the suicide. If people are so miserable with the hand they were dealt or produced for themselves, why are we holding them earth side?
This doesn't mean that I don't support getting professional help and trying to reach out to those having a hard time, but why make people live if they have no quality of life and are sick of being here? There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish that I could have helped Country Boy, but if there was a chance for him to have been able to reach out for help, he didn't extend that plea to me. He had a plan and he carried it out. For him, there was no use in living in a world without his dad. He had too much pain to bear on his own and he couldn't figure out how to share it. Meanwhile, I have a lot of pain (in my own opinion) and even with sharing it, I feel I am constantly drowning. Today, with my panic attack, it showed that my head is no longer staying above the water. The stress of reporting, painful memories, moving, not being able to work, having bills that I cannot pay, and stress I can't even describe is overwhelming me.
It's so hard to surrender your anxieties to the L-rd when your life is stripped from your grasp. It's so hard to ask for help when nobody can hear you from the depths of your chasm. I know I have no control over my life, but I feel like I'm in a car with a sleeping, drunk driver and the car is swerving on it's own. However, the ride sucks so badly I hope it crashes soon so that the drive will come to an end, I don't even care about making it to wherever I thought we were headed.
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