unconscious people don’t want tea.
last night I had the worst of the worst dream.
it was of that night, back in October of 2014.
the night that no number of scolding hot showers can clear.
the night that no amount of scrubbing my skin raw will ever erase.
the night that no amount of alcohol will help me forget.
G kept asking if i was okay today, and reflexively i said yes.
i mean, what could i say?
“no. i’m not okay. a lot of things are wrong. i had a dream of the nights i was violated.”
no. of course not. these are things i’ve only told my parents.
and even then, i only told them of the first instance, when i had to.
i’ve been thinking about it all day.
how this happened because of what i did.
and i’m not just saying this in a victim stance, because there are things i could have done differently, but i didn’t.
that doesn’t make it any less of a nightmare that haunts me constantly.
i could have done things differently, but i didn’t.
there are things they could have done differently, but they didn’t.
i don’t blame myself for passing out at a friend’s house, because i assumed i was safe. i don’t blame myself for sleeping with my room unlocked, because who should fear their roommate?
i do blame myself for letting my guard down that much around acquaintances, friends even, because i guess i should have known.
that brings me to my final note:
this eating disorder happened long before these violations, but they became my safe haven. now i’ve been labeled as the “nice girl” or “the good girl.”
and i don’t ever care, because i’m in control. i no longer use food as a coping mechanism (occasionally i can feel myself getting bad again, but i try to use other ways, some successful, some not so much). i use my control, my kindness, my niceness, my “good girl” persona, because that’s what i can control, in a positive way.
in a way that no one gets hurt.
i could have said no, i could have done many things differently (and again, i’m not victim blaming, because these are points where i should have been safe), but i could have done things differently.
if i had, maybe i wouldn’t be as broken.
maybe i’d still be going to school at SEMO.
maybe i’d be a successful pharmacist by now.
i wouldn’t change anything in my past, because it’s led me to where i am today.
where i work with the mentally ill, the sexually violent, the murderous, (that no one thinks will ever change) i am euphoric. i am thriving. i am happy. working at the mental health center, where many clients will see me and say how much they’ve missed me, or break my heart by saying that i’m the only one nice to them, and i love it.
i’ve had many, many clients ask what i’m going to school for, and i tell them, “social work.”
and then they go on for days after, every time they see me, saying, “you’re going to be a great social worker.” or “i hope you can be my social worker someday.”
and it breaks my heart.
in the best possible way, but it still breaks my heart.
i am filled with so much positivity and hope, from clients, from friends, from my parents. i have a wonderful support system. i am mentally and physically healthy, and i hope someday (if not already) that you’re filled with this same feeling.
it doesn’t always get better. the nightmares don’t always go away, but someday you will be so happy that you didn’t take your life, and it will be worth it.
so maybe you’ll have days like mine, where you’re haunted by your past. that doesn’t mean you should risk your future because of mistakes and mess-ups.