A walk in the park


Well as first time out on my own without needing to be somewhere or meeting someone this is hard to top.

As much as I hate to be w..w…wr..wrr… not right, I guess the GP was right I needed to change my view, my living room is fast getting unhealthy. As strange as it sounds, almost an oxymoron but my house is both my safe haven and my danger zone. It’s the place I can go to ground, where no one but me can enter, the world doesn’t have to face me and I don’t have to face the world. If I want to curl up and bawl my eyes out, no one but the dust monsters and my teddy bears have to see. I don’t have to feel self-concious if I’ve not showered and shaved. But equally for it’s safety it holds memories and dangers. I’m never more than an arms length away from my crisis kits, I’m within eyesight of my contingency back up plans for when or if the time finally presents itself to well, shall we just say no longer have to cope? Then there’s the unending mess, as anyone who knows me will testify, I’m not the tidiest of people at the best of times, let alone when I’m not coping with life, the universe and everything in between. It soon mounts up, both the rubbish and the reasons to hate myself just that little bit more.

Anyway here I am not just out of the house when I don’t need to be, but in the park. I can’t say I don’t feel tense, my leg is shaking worse a freshly set jelly on a kitchen work surface during an earthquake. Nor can I deny my shoulders are stiffer than an old man’s Viagra aided todger. I am also sat typing with my trusty mirrored shades and Marley headphones plugged into my phone blaring music to drown the noise around me out and not to mention the thoughts in my head. Before I first saw Survive this would have been inconceivable. As some of you may by now be aware when I first got back home from hospital my sleep was very disturbed. To an extent it still is, but I understand a bit better and just let the nightmares come.   I still decide each night whether I trade an uncomfortable night on the sofa minus the dreams and nightmares and night terrors, or a night in comfort in my bed and let the pain come. Anyway as I was saying the worst happened when I first came home. I had a night terror, which I regard differently from a flashback during the day. Instead of being trapped in the event as the victim during a flashback,I find at night I am watching it in the 3rd person. I am watching myself being abused by that scumbag and not able to do anything about it. One night I watched it in my sleep myself being abused, ashamedly I woke up not just in a state of arousal but post-orgasm. It has happened before in the past, but I’ve never wanted to admit it to myself. When I woke up middle of the night, aware of what had happened, I felt unbelievably ashamed, and dirty. I have never really felt these emotions before where my abuse has been concerned but I still even now feel some shame about the effect my body had that night. I became convinced that this was a sign I might actually enjoy watching the most despicable of crimes. After a few days of convincing myself I was a disgusting monster I confided in Amy over a cup of tea  and later with Nads over Facebook chat. Being the wonderful women they are, and I can’t tell you world how lucky and privileged  I am to be able to call them friends. Both Amy & Nads  tried to reassure me it was a natural reaction by the body, as if it would be watching porn. I am ashamed to admit I wanted them to be wrong and wouldn’t conceive any thought that they were right. I found myself reinforcing myself when I felt totally dismissed by a CPN who managed to both dismiss my thinking as catastrophizing but questioning whether she needed to alert the police and social services as if I was a child protection risk. Now before you wonder whether I am or would be my standpoint was, is and always will be should I get to genuinely believing I am a risk to children I will remove myself from life rather than risk a legacy of pain for an innocent. I refuse to become the very thing I fear the most, even if  The Daily Mail would have you believe I’m fated to becoming it. So it was for this reason I found myself avoiding walking through the park, or going to the shops during daylight hours, convinced by my poisoned thinking that maybe I was headed to a life not worth living and that I should kill myself rather than risk becoming a monster. It wasn’t until I went to survive, that the wonderful Annie not only affirmed what I didn’t want to believe that Amy or Nads had said, but had given it a name. For the first time I could give that shame a name and regain some control over it. I am sorry Amy, I am sorry Nads i hope one day you will forgive me for not trusting your words because you were both right.  I still feel awkward near kids, not because I think I’m going to pounce on them, but because I’m scared for them, I’m scared for the little boy I was but I can at least do something not so many weeks ago I couldn’t, walk through the prettiest park in York.

Anyway I can’t believe I’ve been here nearly 2 hours, drunk 2 pots of tea (8 cups) empty nor can I believe I’ve written the better part of a thousand words in that time. I have come to the decision that I will start coming out to the reading cafe on days when I don’t have to be at an appointmentl. On alternate visits I will either read a chapter from the self-help book Survive have loaned me, read a chapter from one of my e-books or write a blog piece about the things that are happening around me, trying to be mindful of what I’m missing. Eventually I will slowly drop things like my music and my sunglasses and even start to interact with strangers around me more than talking to the cat that has visited my table or asking the cafe staff “may I have a pot of tea please?”.

But I have made a start, and that’s all I can do, that and offer my thanks to Amy, Annie, Nads for their help, not to mention Ben (my GP) Frankie, Jon & Jim, my Facebook and twitter friends, particularly Karen &Eric, Mike, Paul, Claire, Lucy & Dave, Julie, Kimmie & Susan. I owe you all individually and collectively so very much and want to dedicate this post to you all and the fact that I am out to you all.

One love to all my friends and followers

This entry was posted in Abuse, My Headspace. Bookmark the permalink.