Today is probably the third solely fun day I spend. Just regular day, for most people, I suppose, but for me, it’s a novelty. After spending the past 2 months between panic attacks, flashbacks and depression, a fun day is not what I expect at all.
But after piecing most of that night in my head, and it finally comes to place something changes. Slowly, in waves.
The first one is when I tell the last person for the list of friends that I have not told the truth to yet. I have not spoken to her for 2 months, and that is my only leverage to plead for her to forgive me. We used to live together, and I guess admitting it to her was in a way harder.
After the horrible few second where my heart pounds after I say the words- for a first time pronouncing them in my native language, and not in English, I know something changes. By the end of the conversation- one I have dreaded for weeks- we even manage to get to laughing and talking or regular daily stuff.
The next day I’m weak with relief. And ready for a new version of myself. I have mourned my past, and I’m sure I have more to figure out, but I’m ready to stop waiting around. I can start my knew life, and deal with the rest as I go.
The next surprise comes today. My ex-boyfriend and currently good friend, whom I was dating at some point during the last 2 years, wrote a story, which included few sentences about the end of our relationship. What he said was not important- but suddenly I was filled with overwhelming storm of feelings. It didn’t matter what he said- but every memory of the last 2 years was somehow impacted by my abuse, and I suddenly started thinking of it again.
His words from few weeks ago when I finally admitted to him what happened to me rang in my years. He said he’s proud. That I’m not the uncertain, shy girl that was jumpy all the time. I took his words as they were meant- as compliment. Now they rang in my ears as I read his recollection of our relationship. And I suddenly remembered how quick paced, always nervous person I have been, how I always looked people for approval, and was ready to jump from the smallest thing. I guess it was a leftover effect from being bullied in school, or my abusive relationship few years back, or may be I was always that way. I’m not exactly sure.
I think at some point I took it as part of my character.
Now, lately, I realize, even through everything, I have been a lot calmer, confident. I’ve grown a lot. Dealing with the rape took a lot out of me, but apparently made me better than I ever was.
I knew that despite hating what happened that summer, it brought me 2 great things- through connection of events and people it brought me to my current partner, which I love more than I have ever loved anyone before, and that is how I found what I want to work.
So of course, I appreciated that there was something good in the whole situation.
But I never thought that the worse thing in my past my end up making me better person than I have been before.
It’s too bitter irony.