I just about got through my final day at work (for Christmas break) before collapsing in a heap as soon as I made it through the door. After a cup of tea and watching some silly films on TV,  I think I have enough energy for an evening out with my lovely husband.

It’s been so unexpected or sudden at least. It’s like I’d been holding on just for Monday 22nd at 2pm, because as soon as that time hit, I felt myself beginning to shut down.. and now I am just so, very tired. Tired of work and the stress there, tired of worrying about my poor and suffering 😦 colleague, tired of thinking, tired of feeling, tired of fighting. Just tired.

There have been many wonderful (and difficult) changes this year and many improvements, and the last few months have seen the same.. but it’s also been a mixture of traumatic and painful time for me just lately.

Christmas isn’t an easy time- an anniversary I am dreading, as well as the usual worries and stresses most people experience. I spoke of that anniversary with my T on Friday and I was bowled over by the agony that ensued. It was like a burn, throbbing and stinging, no matter what I did to try to make it stop. I even tried to embrace it, sit in it for a while, but oh, that was worse than agony- excruciating, even torturous.. ugh.

In the end it was my T who pulled me out, thank God for him, for his attentiveness and his care- I feel safer than ever with him now. I left early and came home to distract as much as possible and I guess I have been doing that since. Now, I am just tired. Tired of it all. I want very much to have a nice evening with my husband and a very quiet and calm  few days. It’s about getting through as best as possible, it’s about keeping this pain at arms length, because I don’t know that I can sit in this alone, not without my T to pull me out when I cannot do it for myself.






He’s plaguing my dreams again. Every time I close my eyes, he returns to remind me of what was. Except a little different this time, like he is bringing then to now, rather than now to back then….

Forced to return to my home town and back into his trap, into a life, I once knew so well. Another, where I was dreaming that I woke in my bed, to a dark figure above me and pressure on my chest. As I reached out to my husband, it was my abuser who reached back..

Last night was the worst yet, the fear as I tried to flee and he gave chase. No way out, once again.

And it is the fear that lingers, the terror I cannot shake.





A dark week- life after abuse.

It has been almost a week of darkness now. I have been stuck in this terrifying, suffocating blackness. Trauma and fear and horror every single moment. It feels like the past is infringing on the present, like he is here, watching and waiting to pull me back into his control.

Whenever I leave the house he immediately appears, a ghost on my shoulder, a shadow chasing me. And even at home I can barely make it through an hour without having to fight his presence. Even where I am safest, he still finds his way in. I cannot explain just how frightening that is.


My T was incredibly understanding yesterday -as always. He told me I am traumatised following my flashback last weekend. He said that my mind believes it has just happened and believes that I am still trapped. He said it is shock and it will take time.

I feel better for having seen him and for the space to be completely open about my fears and pain. With a new and surprising raw honesty, I shared the impact this is having on me. It was a relief not to pretend and a release to let some of it out. His understanding and validation and the freedom to talk has helped a little of the darkness lift. He help me find my strength and renew my faith in my abilities to climb out of this black hole.

It wasn’t all good stuff, I also left feeling somewhat frustrated and even sad. We talked of the future, how to ensure that feelings of being trapped do not always trigger.. it is a conversation we have had many times, over other feelings- fear, abandonment, rejection etc. I know it has to be tackled, so it  doesn’t happen again- having a way out and a way forward normally appeals to my need to control, my determination and even my stubbornness. Yesterday though, it only served to upset me. Even during the session, as he encouraged me to face a trigger I was experiencing, not only could I not do it, I didn’t want to.

I don’t have the energy for it right now and just the idea that I will have to at some point, pushes me close to despair. More things to do, more challenges to face, more pain, more difficulties. Another battle to fight and to win. I want to get through, of course I do- and heck, I know myself well enough now to know I will do whatever it takes.. but it isn’t fair is it? I’ve already been through hell, a thousand times over. Sometimes I get so very tired of living a life tarred by the remnants of my past.


Our Anniversary.

An anniversary, I think. I feel it in my heart. As my husband pulled me into his arms this morning, my thoughts turned to my friend. I wondered if she felt it too. Did her husband pull her close this morning, did she find comfort in his arms?


Walls of guilt held back the hurt for years. but now they have moved and are changed, my agony is free to flow in rivers. Rivers of fiery pain. Where guilt has left, I am still filled with regret at what she had to endure.

We share the anniversary and like every year before, I wish she hadn’t had to suffer the same fate as me. I wish I could have done more, I wish it had been different. I wish we had both been safe.


I remain haunted by the way she looked that day, her shock, her fear, her pain. How must she be feeling right now?

I pray for my friend today.

Beauty and light.

I found this very emotional to write, but also helpful, I feel as if I have released a lot within this post. 

*There are some potential triggers further down (another warning is posted) please be careful.*


I cannot escape the past, it is hitting all at once. My body aches from memories of what I once endured. My legs and thighs are screaming at me, every single time I move. The abdominal cramps hit in waves, taking my breath away. 

So I fill my home with flowers, because I don’t know what else to do. 

I admit I am utterly miserable. I am quiet today and a little withdrawn. With little energy to do much else, I am remembering as if it were yesterday, the first time, the group rape and many others.

So I have filled my home with flowers in an attempt to comfort and distract.

This month is so triggering, there is nowhere for me to hide. My body remembers even where my mind will not. I am trapped. Trapped by time, trapped by this season. Trapped. 

So like so many days before, my home is filled with flowers. Today yellows and reds are dressing each window sill. 

My home is beautiful, my home is clean and comforting, the beauty I create is not only important on days like today for my own sanity but is crucial for my healing.


*Trigger warning*

I remember the first few times in vivid detail, the dust, the dirt, the smell, the chaos and the dark. There was this sense of foreboding that seemed to sort of ooze from the walls. I remain disturbed by the memories of that environment.

It was like another world, one no one should ever have to experience. There were screams and shouts from the other flats around us and within that chaos we were alone in the dark and there on a mattress of filth upon filth, there on blood stains of past abuse…my innocence was so brutally taken. 

And it was there where the stains were soon mine, it was there that I swear, a part of me died and it was there I grew to fear the dark and loathe the dirt. It is there, my mind so often takes me to, it is there I have to fight to return from… every. single. day. 

So I fill my home with flowers and bask in their beauty. I light candles, I am soothed by the gentle flicker and comforted by their scent. I surround myself in light, in blankets and in cushions and in textures and in patterns, in quiet and in peace.

I cannot help but fear that a part of me still resides back there. Therefore all the beauty I surround myself with is to chase away the darkness that I fear will imprison the rest of me. In the light, he can no longer harm me. 





I strive to create beauty, I strive to create light. Right now it is for me, but I hope one day for many others too. And that, I pray, will be my life. 



The nightmare of all nightmares (possible triggers).

was waiting for me last night. Oddly I am calm right now, no grounding necessary, which normally follows nightmares. I am not shaky, I do not have hyper vigilance or even dissociation.

It should be shock, why isn’t it shock? I feel as if my insides have been ripped out. Raw in a way, but without the horror. Am I grieving? Is this grief? I am not sure I know.


To keep myself safe, to be sure I do not not over share, I have sort of a rule, to tell only my T and a friend about my nightmares. And if I write them down, I only ever write about them in my journal.

I considered writing in my journal this morning, however circumstances today mean that is a scary process I just cannot risk right now. I have to remain together, without being specific, I have responsibility today and feel a vulnerability that cannot be avoided. My journal is not an option right now.

So, today, I break my rule, I cannot keep this to myself.

I have experienced trauma dreams for years, these decreased about 6months ago, to increase again when we moved house. I have had a lot of dreams lately, about the past, but different to the trauma dreams. They are often about me and him now, not as a teen. They are scary, but in a different way.

Last night, I had a very detailed and (what felt like) lengthy dream. I was me, now, at 31. I was forced to return to his flat, except he wasn’t there, he didn’t (and doesn’t) live there anymore. The building was disused, falling to ruin. Despite my anxiety and a sense of dread, I was compelled to be there, I did not have a choice. My limbs were heavy, I had little control, as if I was a puppet or a doll. Even though I was fighting against it, I was still moving forward, climbing the seemingly everlasting stairs.

Everything was dark, daylight, but dark. I could almost taste the damp surrounding me. The walls were lined with  faded graffiti, the “artists” long gone. I felt increasingly constricted with every step I made, as if the stair well was gradually closing in on me, like a giant hand, slowly curling into a fist around me. It must have been cold, because I could see my breath in front of me, yet I could not feel it. I could not feel anything at this point it seemed.

And after walking miles, it seemed, I finally reached his floor, the door on the right, the faded pink hiding such horrors within. I felt relieved, to escape that stair well, I did not fight as I was propelled forward towards that door.

Then the door was open and it looked so different from reality, the living room in front of me with murky green carpet and depressing yellow walls. It was empty when I entered, but I found myself on a couch. I was seated, staring around, talking to myself. I knew I had been there before, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, something was missing, someone belonged here and they seemed to be long gone. It was eerie sitting there looking around.

At some point things seemed to change, as if the flat was waking from a long slumber. Panic rose in my throat as I was suddenly pushed to face a door. The door I seemed to know led to a bedroom, an aging white painted door, already open, beckoning me to enter.

And though I made it to the entrance, I was unable to go in, because somewhere from inside, something began to scream. A scream so powerful it blocked the way through. Then the walls were like screens, showing projections of the horror that room had seen.

I  was trapped on the spot, forced to watch what was unfolding before me. With the scenes of the past flashing before me and the screams of terror passed. I could see it as if it were happening, terror and pain. The screams continued, louder and as if from multiple entities. Strangely, they were like solid objects aiming for me, as they reached me they did not stop, instead they went right through. They seemed to bounce off the opposing wall, before ricocheting back towards me to have another turn.

And somewhere in the chaos, I could not help but remember. I was forced to accept that the horror playing out before me, didn’t happen to a stranger. The girl in those pictures was within me, the woman standing in that room.

It felt as if the room had been sleeping, waiting for me to return. That room remembered me just as I remembered it.

There as a little more, I won’t bore you with.. but WOW, what a dream. I am exhausted now, hurting lots and way to aware of what was. As I said, it isn’t trauma. It is something though- pain I think, I am not sure. I don’t have time for this, I have too much responsibility today, why did it have to be last night? Why do things always have to happen when circumstances mean things are already difficult?






A familiar experience.

I was dissociating this afternoon, I felt lightheaded and dizzy. My husband had music playing and the candles were flickering and it caused me to slip into an all too familiar memory. After much grounding, I wrote some of what it reminded me of.

Please be careful- massive trigger warning.



No sounds remain but the beat of the base, it’s welcoming somehow and with each passing moment, it pulls her further in. There is comfort in the flickering light and the warmth that each drag is radiating. She knows she’s been here before, it’s her blissful escape. With every breath she takes, the world is closing in around her.  Every fear, each worry and any care she ever had, no longer matters here, in her safe haven.

But it doesn’t last long enough, something is different. She knows she was sitting before, but now she must be laying. Because all she can see is that crack once again, like a scar in the ceiling, it is never changing. Where was that beautiful dream where nothing could penetrate? It was like swimming under water; peaceful and serene. And what she’d give to be back there now. Not here, where it’s dark and she’s no longer sitting.

Flat on her back, this is all too familiar. The smell is over powering, yet she cannot react, her limbs are heavy, still groggy from her dream. And the panic hits inwardly, yet she cannot move an inch.


There’s a heavy breathing in the room, the monster is waiting.


There’s a weight on her chest and it is suffocating. There’s a familiar noise again, a whispering in her ear. Issuing its instructions that could not be more clear. Yet, they are no longer necessary, she knows what to do, it’s always the same. Like a good student, she remembers her training. When at last, the whispering cease and for a moment there is peace. Until the crushing weight resumes and with it this time, a rhythm she always hated.

Somewhere from within her, a scream is rising, though she knows it would be deadly to release it. So, she finds herself searching for her dream to return. Willing it to engulf her, she prays in desperation, wondering if she will be heard.

And next thing she knows, she’s sitting again  with the familiar beat of the base, the flickering light and the comfort of each toke. She follows it back in, her haven is waiting.