This is where I am and here I will remain; in the comfort of the known and away from the unknown. Fearful of retreating back into past traumas yet comfortably reliving them each day. Afraid of people, afraid of strangers, afraid of men, afraid of them, afraid of him. Terrified of everyone and hateful toward myself.

Where I am is in a place of comfort. Comfortably familiar with the shadowed figures that visit me time and time again. Comfortably acquainted with the films that replay each trauma in my mind. Comfortably at peace with the shivers that run down my spine and the tears that roll down my cheeks. Comfortably calm when unable to breathe, hyperventilating whilst crippled with anxiety and fear. Comfortably at home in the bubble that I’ve grown accustomed to; a labyrinth that is home to the familiarity of the traumas, the normality of my eating disorder and my depression. Comfortably content in remaining within that bubble, away from the unknown life of restoration and new beginnings; for that unknown life is not mine to take on.

Where I am is in a place of contentment. Contentment in knowing that hope is lost and that redemption and healing is well beyond my reach. Contentment in knowing that I deserved the punishment passed onto me by the empowered men in my life. Contentment in knowing that I must have subconsciously asked to be used and thrown away by each stranger. Contentment in knowing that the traumas are mine to carry until the day I die. Contentment in accepting that the blame and fault are also mine; I accept that.

Where I am is where I’ve come to terms with each of these things. I’m torn between feeling everything and not feeling anything at all.I embrace the hurt because it’s well and truely deserved and I know that no amount of self inflicted pain will ever amount to the pain inflicted upon me during the traumas and over the years. At any given moment I throw my body against objects in a hope to feel, thrown against something with stability when my life is so far from stable, grasping at glass bottles and slamming them against my skin in desperation for a physical pain that outweighs the emotional pain. Nothing ever does.

Where I am is a place of ruin.Here there is nothing those around me can say or do to convince me that I am worthy of healing and none of them will be able to change the things that have happened to me. My past is something I relive each day and remains something that will never be spoken of or moved on from, each night I cry myself to sleep and in the blackness of my dreams I apprehensively await the ghosts of my past. The voices torment me as they whisper the phrases told to me by each perpetrator and my skin crawls as their very words echo.

Have you any idea the things each perpetrator said to me, let alone what they did? Their words are words that I can never say aloud and words that should never again be said aloud, their actions never to be spoken of nor repeated. Yet their words were so very detrimental that they became engrained within me, they reestablished my core beliefs; uprooting and replacing them with what they said of me. In my heart of hearts I believe so strongly the worst about myself, I believe what they said of me and those things are unable to be placed into words.

Where I am now is a place where I no longer care about what happens to me.I have given up. A slow and steady self destruction is what will carry me through each hour of each day. I give up on the hope that God will one day lovingly step in and carry me through because if He was going to then surely by now He would have. There is such difficulty believing in God and in His love for me.

Where I am is ruled by the self destruction and as my body noticeably falls apart bit by bit, I realise my life is passing by both slowly and then all at once.

T once asked me what I wanted for myself emotionally, and dare I say that all I want is to feel loved? My fear in this being that the word itself, and the very concept of ‘love’, in my experience, holds little to no depth. I think a deeper part of me yearns to be held and told that I am loved, but within that to know that the person saying it to me, honestly and truely means it. I long to be loved unconditionally, to be loved in a way that absolves me from the ruthless guilt, shame and self hatred that stems from my current situation, but that at most stems from the traumas that became part of me over the years. So much guilt and so much shame.

In full honesty please tell me just one thing, is the idea of love and absolution too much to ask?

– c x