I feel so exposed. Have I over shared? Did I go too far today?
I wish we were done with this. I am so sick of using that word. It’s a word I despise. A word I refuse to type right now. A word I loathe to say.
It is a word I have used a great deal lately, to describe a part of me that I cannot shake. It is a part I have faced today , a part I have been hiding, even from myself.
It all fits a little too well and with something so deeply ingrained, it cannot simply dissipate.
No matter how much I reject it, or argue with myself, that word remains, swimming around my head.
Am I her? Or is she me?
They created her. It was a given identity, one that was never ever wanted. One that has never gone. How could they do that to a child?
I find myself with horrific nightmares this week. Not of rape, not of trauma, but of words that were used to describe me. Nightmares where I am again, the identity they forced on me. It is those words they used that have me waking most nights lately, screaming into my husband’s chest. I am shocked by the depth of the wounding. I am disturbed by the impact this has had. Broken. A shattered soul. Not just from rape, but from what I was forced to become. It is a label that has never left me, no matter how hard I try to conceal it from the world.
When I am triggered, I feel like that person again. A darkness descends, sort of enveloping me and I become cold and even aggressive and spiteful. I barely recognise myself, yet at the same time, it’s oddly familiar and even comforting somehow. I cannot continue living as two people though. The cross over feels like a death itself. It is draining forever clawing my way back from that Hell.
I do not want to feel those things. I do not want to be her. I do not want to feel like a lesser person, living half a life again.
I do not want to be despised any longer for surviving the only way I knew how.
I am filled with rage right now. Angry at those who do not deserve to know my pain. Even here I am beginning to feel exposed and unsafe.