trigger warning: aftermath of sexual trauma
You know when you're not okay, but there's nothing that will make it better, so you keep on doing the right things, putting one foot in front of the other, making time for self-care as the howling of your soul threatens to deafens you? I've been treading water long enough that the motions are mechanical, my thoughts incoherent, every last ounce of my will focused on not drowning.
I'm in between sexual trauma anniversaries for this month. One down, one to go. Maybe then my body will stop feeling what my mind doesn't want to remember. Maybe then I won't want to throw up when my husband kisses me. Maybe then the restlessness in my bones will quiet down enough that I can think.
It's been 8 years and 13 years respectively since these traumas happened. You'd think I'd be over them by now, that I'd have healed enough that they wouldn't haunt me like this. That my body wouldn't wake me up over and over again in the night with the feel of their hands, their bodies where they never belonged.
It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other. This is normal for me. This is a normal state of being - this howling of wordless pain and degradation. Much of the time I'm tuned out. It's there - it's always fucking there, but I become deaf to it. I could tell you the details of how my body was treated like a commodity, a tool for his using and leaving, but those aren't what haunt me.
What haunts me is that both of these men knew. They knew I was multiple, knew I was abused, and had presented themselves as safe people, in places that were supposedly safe. My soul howls at the betrayal of the shreds of trust that I still had that had been placed in the hands of yet another who used me.
My fear tells me to run, to flee, to hide myself away from everyone and everything. To never share any of who I am with anyone, ever again. It's tempting. It wouldn't help me heal, it would be going backwards, but my mistrust of the world as a whole is at it's high point for the year. I don't feel safe, not curled up here in my office on the couch, not wrapped in layers of blankets in my bed, not in my husband's arms, not in my therapist's office.
I'm tired of riding this out. Tired of choosing the right thing with the immediate result being extreme restlessness. My heart came alive in a new way this year and now I can't numb myself to how this feels. I know this too is healing - and so my soul howls, wordless broken terrified.