herlucidlife

I’m not sure where to go from here. So much centered around sex. Who knew something so beautiful, something God created could be twisted into something so horrific. I need to take a moment to process… be right back. 

Almost three days of isolation. I could feel the Holy Spirit prompting me to share. Deep down I was not ready to speak about it. But when is a good time to talk about something I had hid from myself all these years. Saying it for the first time out loud to two friends. My dear friends are sitting across the table from me, feeling the gentle yet firm prompting of the Spirit. “I need to share where I’m at, I have to get this off my chest.”

Barely over a whisper I shared I’d been raped but I couldn’t feel the feelings. I’ve been walking in a fog all weekend. Listening to my friends it was hard to smile though I deeply wanted to. It was hard to feel though I deeply want to pinpoint the emotions. My mind is still trying to down play what happened, still trying to make sense by placing all the blame on me. 

For a moment I felt I was not processing anything. My friends pointed out that by sitting in the emotions, speaking when I was ready, praying to God about what happened and writing whatever comes out is processing. I’m looking forward to my therapy session later in April. I’m desperately ready to put this behind me, but perhaps it may never be behind me but simply more manageable. 

I haven’t cried much. I sleep most of the day and when I’m awake I’m completely exhausted. Getting through the work day is excruciating and trying to relate to people seems out of reach. I didn’t realize emotions could fester and linger underneath the surface for so long. The emotions are as real today as they were back then, maybe even more so today. Nothing to numb the pain but the natural numbing the brain creates to protect itself from trauma overload. Barely eating, mind replaying memories. 

Feels like I’m talking in circles because the fog is making it hard to articulate anything. My natural coping mechanism is to masturbate to feel something different but my stomach turns as the thought of touching myself. Embarrassment, shame, guilt, feeling as though I should have known better. Thinking if I had chosen something different then it wouldn’t have happened. 

I keep wanting to bring the blame to myself because maybe it would be easier to sit with it. I’ve never truly been a victim. I could always see my part in the situation, even now I see how my decisions put me in harms way though the choice to be raped was not my own. Someone decided they wanted something that I was not willing to give so instead he took it.