I may not be there yet but I am closer than I was yesterday.

One year when I was almost 11, after Birdy and the Villain had broken up, my little brother Chops who lived with Villain asked me to go stay with him at their house. And I went, whatever stupid reason I had, I went. 

Call me a glutton for punishment, or a very confused 11 year old.

This week is the first time I knew about this sleep over, I never knew I spent the night alone with Villain in his home, alone, not ever, ever ever ever. When my Birdy told me on the phone last week it felt like the blood felt completely drained from my body and my insides went cold but at the same time something clicked. I had something like an Ah hah! moment.  Slowly the ‘get your life together for fuck sakes woman‘ puzzle is coming together. Piecing parts of my abuse together is in no way shape or form, a fun water slide with candy, rainbows and unicorns. However in my eyes any information that my own mind or my family can give me is worth piecing together because not knowing is almost as bad as knowing. I like to think my mind allows things to slide through slowly as I am ready for them. As to not bombard my little blackened soul with knives and barking dogs with barks that spit glass shards at me. Thanks mind, you are all the smarts. 

That phone call was the moment I knew that something else went on, something bigger and uglier. I have memories that I often struggle to place at certain years or homes and the memory of there being oral sex is just one of them (insert your cringe face here). I have never been able to remember where that one memory was from and the only thing I know is that I was older when it happened, (connecting the dots). I got off the phone to birdy and the fear sat in my chest just as heavy I sat in the chair at the end of our well loved kitchen table. The fear, the sickness in the pit of my stomach, the confusion, the knowing that, that time was the time that something even sadder happened to me that night and I have completely wiped it from my memory (again thanks mind).  It popped up like a really unwanted surprise birthday gift of like perhaps a poo in the bath you weren’t expecting, or a strange wet patch on the couch that hmmm could be poo, could be wee but you really just can’t tell.

 These feelings have been rolling around like the marbles in the marble runs we’ve been watching on Youtube, rolling in my mind for days and days now and I can’t seem to find the right words to fully make you, my devoted and well loved reader understand my confusion and inner turmoil over this and this is as far as I have gotten, I like crepes. With Nutella. (please continue below).

I EFFIN love nutella
I EFFIN love nutella

Over the past few days however I have had the time (or not had any time) to try and process these feelings but something is different, something is very different. Usually when something thrusts itself into my head like this, a memory or a feeling or something hefty like this, usually I am down and out like an old lady in a jelly bath on rollerskates, for what feels like many days. Usually I cry, I get angry, ugly cry even more and then the week that follows is absolutely ruined and my parenting skills always go first.

This time, it’s different. 

I was driving with the demon spawn when I realised what it was. I was driving along and the feelings from the ‘memory’ above squeezed its way through the regular cracks in my brain and straight into my conscious head. Almost always I would have cried and looked like a lunatic crying while driving with her demon spawn in the car because it’s always so overwhelming. Not this time. The feelings came at me, rushing into my body, feeling all those feels, the fear, the fear being the biggest and most forefront feeling, the loss, the confusion, the sadness I have so often because I don’t know what happened. The sadness in knowing that I wasn’t there through something so bad that my mind left me, my little body lying there while he did whatever he felt he wanted to do. My mind, left my little body there. And That’s fucking sad guys. Like where the fuck does your mind go? How? Just wow. Anyway, I realised I was taking all these feelings on and owning them like a Bawse (see like a boss). And while they were sad, heartbreaking and fucking absolutely justifiable, I processed them better than I ever had and felt proud to be where I was and who I was for once.

The thing that’s changed?

The thing that has completely gone, is the anxietyI had been living weeks, without anxiety. Without even realising it had gone, and here I was for the past few weeks, wondering why I had been so happy, so motivated and sick (see heaps good) at parenting the demonic spawn of cat satan. And it took a massively sad ‘memory’ to realise it was gone. My ability to stop and process the feelings I had about this ‘memory’ instead of being overwhelmed by the feelings and running, hiding, crying and allowing this to swallow me, had gone. It’s been 3 weeks since I had my last bout of anxiety or anxiety attack or even just a brief anxiety filled thought, just like that, gone. I have lived with it every day to some extent for as long as I can remember that it became so normal that I didn’t know life without it, I didn’t know what it was like to live.  I had never even realised the effect it’s had on my life, the way it affects how I parent, how I love, how I eat, what I do and how I be me. I never thought anxiety could control my life until I didn’t have it anymore.  The Villain is the sole reason I have had issues with Anxiety, so if my anxiety is gone or missing, whatever, what does this mean? Am I one step closer to being over the rainbow? To become closer to healing?

If so. Go me.


9 thoughts

  1. Yes, go you!
    The word ‘sex’ feels so out of place to me when referring to anything an adult does to an child, or coerces a child to do to them. I’d use the word attack, that son of a bitch.
    So good to hear that the memory of something so horrific surfaced without that anxiety. It’s terrifying enough as it is.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ahhhmazing! If I could like this post 100 times for how far you’ve come I would. You are kicking the Villian in the ass every time you have moments like these. It’s like you said take this you effing bastard cause what you did to me isn’t going to control my every minute of every day. I get to do that now. So proud of you!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I am so happy with your progress and breaking free from the awful anxiety. Processing something sometimes can really feel like a huge weight is lifted, like something just clicks into place..You don’t know why and how, but it just does..I hope it lasts and you feel better & better. The villain can’t steal every moment from you…You are getting to a more peaceful place. Believe it!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I understand. Well, a teen, I’d had always known something was…off. And depression started to kick in. And then, my sister had just come home from work, I had been babysitting her son, and she was telling my mom that old Mr. X threatened to call the police on her saying she always sped down the street, and my mom said something like, “We could have had his son arrested all those years ago, and didn’t, and damn well knows it, so he’d better shut his trap.” My gut clenched, and I calmly asked, “What for?” and both my mom and sister got very quiet, and wouldn’t look at me, and my mom not to worry about it. And I knew. It sort of all came back to me in a rush – the one incident with the neighbor boy (best we can figure, I was 7, he was 15, and he outweighed me by probably 150 pounds), and a few incidents with, for gods sake, my brother. My parents knew about the neighbor. I was with a neighbor’s granddaughter at the time, and I guess she told someone that something happened, I’m not sure, but the entire neighborhood knew. I remember – once I remembered – one of the neighborhood kids saying something about me in a “you should hear about this” tone to one of her friends, and in the end, a friend of ours from the neighborhood told my sister, who told my mom – about the neighbor boy. I wouldn’t say what he did, just “gross stuff”, and the counselor told my parents that if I refused to talk about it, not to push it, that I wasn’t ready to deal with it. And I wasn’t. I totally blocked it from my memory for 10 years, until I overheard that one sentence. I don’t remember my parents talking to me about it after it happened, or the counseling sessions, or anything. But when I remembered, I came to my parents, and we talked about it, and they got me counseling, but that was over 20 years ago that I remembered and the PTSD still grabs me by the throat. I never did tell them about my brother….and I wonder if my brother knows I remember. After all, he found out that I had forgotten about what Kenny did to me. After that summer, that neighbor girl never came back to her grandparents’ house anymore. I just a few months ago got in contact with her on facebook – she had blocked it out, too. She assumed something bad must have happened, and she had a bad feeling, but it wasn’t until I contacted her that it clicked for her, but she doesn’t remember.

    Liked by 1 person

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