This blog started out as one of those wah, depression sucks balls, anxiety is making me tired and overstimulated, life sucks big fat turds, wah fucking wah…blogs.
I changed my perspective as I typed with slurry spoken fingers, in-between me polishing off a very full glass of wine, feeding the kids porridge for dinner while they watched surprise eggs on YouTube for the last hour, as the dog gently licks her gross vagina in the background.
It was then that I realised. I gotta stop shifting the blame.
Yes. I was sexually abused for a stupid long time and YES it is not fucking fair.
But. He isn’t here now. And the only person that can fix this now, is me.
Last week I was officially diagnosed with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. I’ve suspected I had both of these for a while now, so it was no surprise to me. My psychiatrist suggested a change in the antidepressants I’ve only been on for 5 weeks to something else that is a bit more intense (the name of it escapes me now of course). He suggested I try Psychotherapy and lots of it, he’s talking 2-3 times a week if financially possible.
This is all incredibly daunting, expensive…… and completely draining.
Here I am trying fix all these issues that I really shouldn’t have, had one man decided to just think “No, I can’t hurt that little girl” ….like a normal person.
I’m the one going to counselling and therapists, trying new meds, crying (a lot), feeling hopeless and wanting to die. All because one man couldnt help himself and found his way into my room countless nights for countless years.
The damage it has caused me is unforgivable. And yet for such crimes on a child he will most likely never be punished for it. Nor will he be held financially responsible for the years of therapy I’ve had already or will now incur in the future. He should be of course. But. No. It’s all on me. I have to do all the work here.
This was the moment the blog changed from “Oh woe is me” to “Ohhhhhh, no one but me can fix this, not even if he apologised, not even if he was sent to jail, not even if…….” none of that can change the C-PTSD or the anxiety. I’ve had rants like this before imagining that after said rant, shit would be better but it hasn’t been…. but oh, not this time. Not. this. time.
It’s all on me now. It is now my responsibility to get better and heal this mess.
So that’s what I’ll do.
I’ll plough through it like they ploughed through the old hardened dirt in the old days with the old hand ploughs, all sweaty and gross then I’ll smear some dirt on my cheek and we will all giggle. I’ll plough through it like a 18 year old girl ploughing through a crowd to the front of a Justin Bieber concert….
My name is Antanika. And I have a stupid long way to go. I’m a mother and a friend, I am a good and very strong person.
His name is Robin Banks (yes that is his real name). He’s a 60 something year old man, a father and a grandfather and child abuser. He is not a good or strong person. He is a weak man, who deserves….nothing.
SO from now on I vow to myself to fix this, not matter how fucking hard it is, no matter how many years in tears it takes and along the way I will not continue to feel like a shell of who I am.
I will be empowered
I will be proud
I will be strong (Mostly).
The amount of work people like me have to do on themselves can only be positive, it can only be character building, it can only be powerful. You don’t overcome this to be weak, lifeless or nothing.
It’s about taking the power back, taking the voice back.
It’s taking life into our own hands right now, taking a big deep breath and throwing it into the air, watching it explode into a billion heartfelt bright and sparkly pieces, then watching it fall to the ground as softly as a dandylion blowing to pieces in the wind, then picking them up and cradling them as gently as you can and piecing it together like a beautiful life like puzzle of yourself.
Bit by bit, you’ll become you. Become bigger, better, amazing.
I will put the work in, not just for me, but for my children and my devoted husband, because I know without them I could easily just let go and fall into the pits of darkness. Without them the pain would be unbearable and my wrists would have been hacked up long ago.
Without them, without my family. I’d have nothing to live for.
So while doing this for me is important, doing it for them is twice as meaningful.
Because they save me every day, in their own ways. And I owe them the best me there is.
I am a good person. He isn’t. I am a strong person. He clearly isn’t, and I can’t let what he did to me make me someone I don’t want to be.
Robin Banks was the problem, but I am the solution.
As the wise ole Rihanna once said:
“Work, work, work, work, work, work
He said me haffi
Work, work, work, work, work, work!
He see me do me
Dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt!
So me put in
Work, work, work, work, work, work
When you ah gon’
Learn, learn, learn, learn, learn
Meh nuh care if him
Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurting”
Or somethin, somethin.