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

Rebuilding my confidence and my life after rape



There is this moment while I’m in THAT summer, the one where I got abused, and the one where all my ethical and moral beliefs crashed. I have lost myself. I’m hurt, I’m bruised, I’m emotionally and mentally tired. I run out of my house in some childish fit, unable to control myself. I circle the streets I know, and I walk. I walk randomly and with no direction. I walk until I can’t feel my legs. I watch straight in front of me, pale like a ghost, scared to face what happens if I stop walking and actually think about what happened to me.

The word of it, the formulation, r-a-p-e, doesn’t even occur to me.

I always had those ideas about things, you know? You think you know, even if you hadn’t experienced something, you think you know how awful it is. Some of us get close to the truth. What happened to me feels much bigger than that. What a fool I was! Have I known anything til that moment, anything at all? Had I really thought education was going to help me have a brighter life, get as far away as I can from the bad things in life? Stupid, stupid girl. What is happening to me?

That summer, I do and say a lot of things that aren’t quite me. That summer, and every moment after that. Something within me has snapped, broken, torn. I have no idea what it is, but I can’t find logic in anything at that point. I can not find as many reasons to stop myself from things that I have previously found low, unethical, immoral, wrong. But my body hurts, and my soul hurts, everything I can feel is just pain. Some things just stop making sense.

You would think that this is the moment my faith really starts to waiver, but it wasn’t.

It’s not when I am laying bruised on my bed in a foreign country, wondering when will it end. It’s not when I go home and I can’t handle anyone touching me, or coming close near me. It’s not when writing my home works and going to parties stop making sense, or I stop recognizing my body in the mirror. It’s not when I try to make out with a guy, and completely freeze. It’s when I have graduated, started a good relationship, move to a new place where I feel safe and at home. It’s when I start dancing, and meeting new people, and making money online, as I have dreamed of for a while. It’s when all the things that I have wanted start happening, and I can finally feel SAFE.

It’s when I stop waking up panicking that the relative security I have in the dormitories or back in my parents house will be gone soon. It’s when I start living again. I have spend 2 years having nightmares, running from the truth, or dealing with it, and trying to rebuild my life. I have spend 2 years, knowing that everything can fall apart any moment.

The moment I am SAFE, that is the moment I fully loose any shred of faith I was holding onto.

Continue reading

Suicidal thoughts from my past and surviving sexual abuse

I’ve read about people wanting to commit suicide after going through certain amount of things. I always told myself that wasn’t me. And it’s true, I never attempted anything. But in full honesty yes, the thought has crossed my mind. Of course it has…doesn’t that happen to all of us at one point or another?


It was 4 years ago (in my mind I’m still stuck on 2 years- 4 years seems like longer than what it feels) and it was evening or afternoon. It was summer and the air smelled of sea and cigarettes. I stumbled out of my house in a haze. I don’t remember much.

It was THAT night. After what happened, the first time it happened anyway. I remember I had just showered and I still felt dirty and like I have a sign on my forehead showing how awful I was. Every muscle I had hurt. I walked around without an aim or idea, and frankly I don’t remember much of where I went. I just wanted to be out of the house (I was living in the same house as the guy that raped me). I remember the smell of the air and feeling how crystal cut and vivid everything felt, and how I felt nothing towards it. I had no feelings. Or so I thought.

Everything inside me was numb. Why was I there? Why had I crossed half of the world? It couldn’t be for this right? What was the point of being smart? I couldn’t get out of this. What was the point of being talented or pretty if someone will just use it against me? What was the point of education? I would never feel anything, ever again, so who cares if I have a good job? What’s the point of putting all that effort into things that don’t have any meaning after everything? The world isn’t grand, it isn’t worth seeing, it isn’t worth this pain at all. What’s the point of trying to hold onto concepts I don’t believe into anymore?
I just…I just wish I could feel.

I’m walking, crossing the street. There is a car fast approaching and beeping. The beeping comes muted like it’s under water. I look at the fast approaching red car like it’s a Christmas ornament. I should move away, but I can’t remember why anymore. I look at it frozen while it approaches. What would happen if I didn’t move and it ran through me? I felt curious to find out. What was left of my old world anyway? I move away at the last second, run off to the other end of the street, while the driver swears at the distance. My heart beats fast. For a second I’m alive again, and all I feel is my beating heart. But then that’s done, and the aching spreads between my legs and through my whole body. It hurts too much to feel anything.

And since I now know I can feel, I do it again. I walk towards cars and run off at the last moment. I do it again and again until it gets dark and I finally stumble into my own house (rented room, but anyway) like a thief, avoiding seeing him. I get to my room and to my bed and I lock the door like my life depends on it. I think it will be hard to fall asleep, but that is my last thought. After that, darkness pulls me under.

Next thing I know, it’s light outside, my alarm is ringing and I have no idea why my body hurts so bad and why I feel so worn out.


Anyway, many times after, I have thought life isn’t worth living, but I pushed myself to keep going and find a reason. That was the only night where I had no reason. I only kept going because the thrill of the cars rushing past me was better than thinking, thinking that would lead me to knowing that this guy has taken me without a problem and consequently my life had no meaning or value. That’s as close as I got to suicide. I still don’t know why I moved out of the way of that first car, I’m just glad that I did. My brain was hazy and not in much condition for logical decisions anyway.

The Illusion of Control pt.2

In the last post I told you about where trying to regain ALL control led me.

Now, after a long talk with my partner and a lot of thinking, I start to realize the duality in what I’ve been trying to do.

I have been trying to accept that I have made a mistake- hurricane sized mistake- and I am living in the twisted aftermath of trying to fix it and constantly failing. I keep living with that sense that all in my life is consequential of what I do. That the rape wouldn’t have happened if I’d done things differently. That I could have made more money if I just pushed myself a bit more. That I could finish my BA degree in a very small city and at the same time get enough money to pay off my debts. I’ve accepted that I did everything wrong and for 2 years I wrecked my brain trying to fix it.

The truth is, we don’t have full control over everything.

You can’t stop airplane crash, or predict that it will happen. Even if you do everything right, even if you go to self defense classes, never walk alone in the dark and all that, you can’t always prevent an attack. There will always be someone stronger. And even if you are fully certain in a job and take out loans, the economy can crash, you can get fired, and your security is done.

That seemed like a depressing thought.

I thought, that is awful, scary. That means, it makes no difference what you do. Bad things can still happen. It doesn’t matter if you are bigger, stronger, smarter, have more money. Your life can fall apart in a minute. Continue reading

Art Therapy…or something

“I need the darkness

the sweetness 

the sadness the weakness,

oh I need this… ”

-Natalie Merchant, My Skin

I have read that expressing your feelings in some artistic way may help with things like abuse and so on a long time ago, but I didn’t have to read it to use it. At some point, there is only so much you can do when you are dealing with rape.

Talking gets old and only hurts more. Reading can’t save you from thinking, and thinking about it prevents you from being able to do any other work. There is this deep, bleeding void within you, and you simply have to do something. Continue reading