Isolation, insomnia and taking control

“It’s like I’m sleepwalking, and I don’t know how to wake up…” Mary, on Reign (TV series)

This quote kind of struck me, may be because it rings so true for me. It’s like I gave myself an allowance to check out of my life for a moment so I can recover 3 years ago, and I never checked back in. Or I check in and out depending on how I feel. Like I’m asleep for years, and I only wake up every once in a while, like I’m in a dream, and I know it’s my choice what I do, and I still can’t stop myself sometimes. Four and a half years ago, I was raped. And when I was ready to stop denying it and destroying myself, I started this blog as a sort of sounding board for my recovery process. I have been doing a lot better lately, but I need to start writing here again. I know I do. I do, because when I write, I push myself, and I discover things about myself I didn’t know.

Otherwise, I have reached a point where my life is getting more and more NORMAL, and I am afraid.

I’m afraid that I still have some important issues I haven’t solved, but that I can live with those. That I can totally let them untouched and push them down again, until I start thinking they are just part of my character. When I started this blog I was the type of person that can make a HUGE deal out of small stuff, but when it came to the big, important emotions, I pushed them down so no one would know they were there. Writing here, trying to regain myself after the rape, it opened me up and I became aware of so much about myself that I was ignoring before. I don’t want to go back to pushing things down.

For the past months, while I was moving my life into more positive direction, I also concentrated in clearing my past- writing, counseling, solving. And then I stopped writing in present tense, and stopped dealing with the emotional issues in my present. Continue reading

Why I didn’t report?

For 2 years, before I was ready to talk about my rape, I avoided anything around the word rape, as if my mind would explode at the slightest idea of it. So I didn’t much get to think about why I didn’t report it- and I didn’t get questioned about it, since I didn’t tell anyone the truth about what had happened.

From the people I chose to share that with in the past months, I got that questioned few times, and carefully, creatively, talked around it. Answered it without really answering it. Not because I didn’t want to answer, but because I didn’t know the answer even for myself yet.

For weeks now, I journaled less and less and blogged less and less- the more things I was getting back in my life, the less I thought about my recovery. And every once in a while, it came back to bite me- being sad on a day where everything was going perfectly okay, being overly emotional, not sleeping well again, having nightmares. A lot less severe than 6 months ago, but they still prevented me from getting rest. I knew I have more work to do to fully recover, but I was so glad to be feeling good again, that I postponed it over and over.

But it’s time. So here I am. I started reading about rape and recovery again, and the topic just popped at me, so I think I’m ready to answer now.

So why didn’t I report? I didn’t report it to survive.

Want the long answer? Here it goes. Continue reading

{Just a Rant}

So I saw something today that reminds me of how I felt when my SA happened, one of them anyway and I can not have the patience to edit.

This is what came out of it, and by extension, this isn’t really a post, this is just to get this out somewhere, without shape and color and size, without order, dirty and messy and meaningless like it was. This is for nobody and nothing, this is just how it was.


…alone, alone, night, laying on the cold floor, him throwing out a condom aside, dirty, dark, cold, stripped, laying on the floor for what feels like forever, naked, weak, humiliated, disgusting… Continue reading

Coping mechanisms: TV addictions and other disasters

  There is this moment today, when I have a panic attack, yet again. The panic comes from the fact, that the natural progression of taking few months to recover, is a lot of work past deadline, that I feel ashamed for not finishing. Either way, I am so panicked, that it’s absolutely besides me to be able to work well.

     But today, I choose differently. I take the evening off to relax, and leave the solving for the morning, when I have clear head. Continue reading

Aftermath: The first week after

Here I am, back, after what feels(or may be is, haven’t checked), a week since I last wrote. I had been doing well for a while with the recovery, so the natural thing happened- I slid back. And it took me a while to contain myself again. Another step forward, finally.

But before that, I finished a post that I never actually published, because it made me sick. Now that I feel better, it’s time for it. Here it is:


This post I have successfully avoided for a while, too. It wasn’t that I was scared of it or it was hard. Writing the reason I created this blog was harder, for sure. But, in the big scheme of things, the reason for all wasn’t on me. I had regrets about it, but mostly I didn’t feel I was to blame for how things turned out. The next 2 years, despite everything, despite me feeling it wasn’t so, were my choice.

And that’s a choice I’m not proud of.

I’m spending considerable amount of time getting okay with what I did and how I lived, accepting that for the sake of recovering I needed these years. But it was never easy to accept it.

The first week

I was in another country, and my brain knew that what my emotional state was, would be irrelevant if I do not have a job, and stay on the street. One was matter of grief and falling apart, while finding job was a matter of life and death literally, since I was on my last money, an ocean away from anyone I can ask for help. The morning after the rape, my brain had pushed the memories down so much, I remembered nothing- absolutely nothing. It was a missing memory of 1 night- but I was tired lately, and I really didn’t think about it- I had job hunting to conduct. Continue reading