Autumn is here and I am not quite sure how to feel about it. I love this time of year in some ways. I love the clothes I can wear. While I’ve worked hard and made some massive improvements in feeling more comfortable wearing skirts and dresses during summer, I am so much more at home in tights too, plus boots of course, or jeans and boots. On the days I feel vulnerable, those clothes are so very comforting.
I love the comfort food I get to cook and eat, I love to wrap up warm with my boys and go out stomping in the leaves. I love the changing weather..
Tonight, while it was still light- I was sitting on my kitchen floor, with the doors open and I was listening and watching. Watching autumn happening right in front of my eyes. The cool air, the low light, the wind blowing the colourful leaves to the ground. It was amazing. It was beautiful.
My heart was heavy as I watched. Heavy and conflicted with love and hate and fear for this season and the one beyond it. Things have changed, yet not enough that this year will be without triggers. In fact in some ways, I anticipate that there will be more this year. Pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, my eyes are opening to what it really was- to a greater depth than I’ve ever known before. So how on earth can this year be easier? How, when even just my last session saw me facing more reality, more truth? The more truth I discover the more I remember and the more I hurt.
I have no therapy tomorrow, and no therapy for much of October and that adds to my fear of this season. I have one session between now and the last day in October. In between I have numerous anniversaries. Anniversaries that I have mostly faced in therapy, but still painful, horrible anniversaries. Some that hurt now, more than ever before.
And everything about this season reminds me. The air, I swear it tastes the same. The way the wind sounds in the trees at this time of year and the smell. My God, the smell. 😦
Next week begins the worst month of the year. I hate October, I loathe it. October it started, I mean really started. October when the pain began, the violations and the fear. October when those men raped me. October when I was forced to go back at 16… October.
I read the word October, I say the word October, I hear the word October and all I can think is “rape”. October signifies rape to me. So much rape. Him, them, him, him, him….
I made a decision today. A decision to (try) not to fight the anniversaries in the way I normally do. No pretending, no avoiding, no forcing myself to be normal. It happened, he did that, they did those things and it’s OK to hurt, it’s OK to grieve, it’s OK to admit I am not OK.
For the first time I am taking annual leave on the anniversary of the gang rape I suffered. I refuse to pretend it is a normal day, I refuse to fight my own pain in order to work or to socialise with my colleagues. Why shouldn’t I allow myself to be home, where there is safety and comfort and a loving, gentle husband close by? Normal routine will not make it go away, it will not stop the pain. Believe me, I tried.
October is coming, and I am so afraid. November and December.. too and it goes on. Numerous anniversaries and reminders everywhere.
I long for Spring already.