loop-y
Sometimes visions of shitty, terrible, horrific things that happened to me start playing in my head. Usually when I'm still for a little while or quiet or just by myself minding my business. But then they don't stop; those memories of past traumas keep looping while I frantically try to not remember, try to think of something else. But they keep playing. So vividly I remember the words and the scenery and what I was wearing.
This most recent round of trauma loops ruined my shower. I had decided to take a longer shower than normal, take care of myself, burn an incense. When I started thinking about how I had recently shared about the most recent sexual assault I remembered with someone but in a weird lighthearted way. I didn't call it by its name, 'rape', I quickly and carefully chose less jarring words. Words that clearly painted the picture, but in less vivid color. Then I tried to figure out why exactly I shared this story with that person; I guess because they have no connection with my assailant. They're not friends with or a fan of my assailant so the likelihood of this getting back to my assailant is slim. That makes me feel safe. But what about the people who still fuck with my assailant, who defend them, who praise them, who believe them over me, who support them? That was the question that brought on the tears. There are so many people who continue to fuck with my assailant who are mutual friends of ours. They are people who I love and who I call friends, but I can't help but feel betrayed. I've had mutual friends, who are licensed counselors, tell me that I didn't try hard enough or that I'm likely to blame for some of it. And I want to give them all that details. I want to tell them every detail of every offense. Go down the line. But I am scared. My assailant threatened me with suing for defamation (a classic technique of an abuser). So I don't say anything.
So now I'm writing to nobody, for me. I'm writing to the random people who stumble upon this blog. I'm writing to the random friends who read my shit (thanks, by the way). I'm writing for myself because I'm a firm believer in facing one's traumas head on. And when my assailant does their routine of checking my shit: LOOK! Your name's not mentioned once and don't worry, like I've been saying: the same people who've been fucking with you continue to.
This most recent round of trauma loops ruined my shower. I had decided to take a longer shower than normal, take care of myself, burn an incense. When I started thinking about how I had recently shared about the most recent sexual assault I remembered with someone but in a weird lighthearted way. I didn't call it by its name, 'rape', I quickly and carefully chose less jarring words. Words that clearly painted the picture, but in less vivid color. Then I tried to figure out why exactly I shared this story with that person; I guess because they have no connection with my assailant. They're not friends with or a fan of my assailant so the likelihood of this getting back to my assailant is slim. That makes me feel safe. But what about the people who still fuck with my assailant, who defend them, who praise them, who believe them over me, who support them? That was the question that brought on the tears. There are so many people who continue to fuck with my assailant who are mutual friends of ours. They are people who I love and who I call friends, but I can't help but feel betrayed. I've had mutual friends, who are licensed counselors, tell me that I didn't try hard enough or that I'm likely to blame for some of it. And I want to give them all that details. I want to tell them every detail of every offense. Go down the line. But I am scared. My assailant threatened me with suing for defamation (a classic technique of an abuser). So I don't say anything.
So now I'm writing to nobody, for me. I'm writing to the random people who stumble upon this blog. I'm writing to the random friends who read my shit (thanks, by the way). I'm writing for myself because I'm a firm believer in facing one's traumas head on. And when my assailant does their routine of checking my shit: LOOK! Your name's not mentioned once and don't worry, like I've been saying: the same people who've been fucking with you continue to.
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