First step

I knew that the road to recovery would be bumpy, but I definitely was not expecting to be not just bumpy, but with hidden land mines, traps, steep mountains that there is no way I’d be able to climb over.  So perhaps I should change the title to “my pathetic attempt to even try to make the first step.”

No matter how many books I read, no matter how hard and try to fight the loop over my neck, that I didn’t even know it’s there, I honestly didn’t expect the outcome of my actions.

Don’t get me wrong. It was absolutely the right thing I had to do and I did it and nothing on earth will make me to break the “no contact” approach.

It’s just… I feel I am at a war with myself along with some hidden enemy and I fight with everything I have. Just… With every day I remember more and more things, thousands of different realities and sometimes I need to remind myself somehow that this reality, what is happening now, is the REAL reality. The reality that I chose.

Even so I feel lost. Not every day, there are glimpses of happiness, even feeling proud and these moments appear more and more often, but I realise that I never knew how to live. I never knew what is to dream for something, something just for you. I never knew how to even take care of myself. The world is so different now that there are still days that I simply don’t want to live my bedroom and hide.

No one thought me how to enjoy life. And being completely honest the society we live in doesn’t help at all.   

As I have mentioned already I promised to myself that I will never lie, I will never try to hide the truth if someone insists to know all the facts. I don’t care what people, friends, whoever will think of me, I truly don’t. That doesn’t mean of course that I’ll tell everyone around me (not that I have crowds around me anyway) what is happening with me, proclaiming my freedom and condemning my family forever. No. But it’s a shitty, lonely, rocky road.

The thing that drives me crazy most is that I don’t know how I feel any given day. As some days I’m fine, my husband is beyond happy saying that he “sees” me again as the warrior I thought I was, but some days I don’t even know how I feel.

I don’t miss them, that’s for sure. Sometimes I want to cry or a topic, not even remotely close to what I am going through makes me a puddle of tears, or some days I am on the top of the world.

It’s just… exhausting. Exhausting is not even the right word, but I can’t think of anything else to explain. Again – don’t get me wrong – I will fight to the end and will not stop until I am completely free, but then again I don’t even know the real meaning of what is it to be “free”. Yes, I am free to do what I want to do, but I don’t know what to do. Yes, I can take whatever decision I want, but I don’t know is it me taking the decision or some other me from the thousands broken realities from the past.

Only one thing I know it’s mine and mine alone.

The rage.

She is so real, so powerful, so demanding that I have to bargain with her every day. Yes, there is nothing more in the world that would give me satisfaction then to shoot my brother but this will not solve anything. What is done is done. But the rage demands it every single day. Yes, I would love to call all of “our family friends” and tell them the truth as it is but again this will not solve anything.

What is done is done.

If it’s a revenge what she is looking for I don’t think I can give it to her so “the rage” can finally shut the fuck up.

She constantly whispers in my head, in my ears, driving me crazy.

No matter how crazy it might sound but we had serious arguments and no matter what I am trying to explain to her, that “she” won’t hurt them, “she” will only hurt me. Not just hurt me, torture, day and night, thoughts that are eating me up from inside out.

My therapist told me that I am not crazy and I truly hope so, and that this is just part of the process that I just have to go through. No short cuts, no “road signs”, no instructions – “just let “her” feel what she wants to feel.”

Easier said than done. I can’t. If I do “she” will consume me. I don’t even recognise myself when “she” is trying to take control. This is not me. I am not that person.

Well, towards my so called “brother” I can totally understand her, but I have already won. Long, long ago I’ve put them right where they belong – outside my personal space, even when we still lived together. They turned me into their biggest nightmare I guess – the strongest bully in the family, despite the fact that that bully is 4’ 11’ tall. Wasn’t an issue at all once they, and so many others, awakened the “rage”.

The truth is I HATE BULLES. I can’t stand them. Because all my life I have been bullied not only at home, but at school, “friends”, “boyfriends”, strangers, even doctors… but that’s a different story, I’m not there yet…

These days they, the bullies, like kind of sense to keep their distance, like they know I can truly see what they are – sick cowards, trying to compensate their own failures, beating you up, intimidating you and keeping you in constant fear. Unfortunately for them nothing works on me anymore. I can actually admit to myself that this is actually extremely helpful but only if I am in control. And I am losing it.

As I am not that person, that would turn the other cheek for years now, I feel that “bully”, the one they turned me into, is trying to come out.

And this terrifies me.

I AM NOT that person, but the “bully” inside me, the one that actually helped me survive, has no fear, no limits, no boundaries, its itching to be unleashed. And I really don’t know how to deal with this. I am keeping all this under firm control because in my eyes, if I give in, I will be just like them and if that’s the case I’d rather shoot myself. Even my husband commented that I am able to control my emotions more and more, that I’m calmer than ever before but this is just on the surface. What if one day I simply lose control? I can’t even take the thought of that, it’s killing me.

Yes, I can be a bully. Yes, I know how to intimidate no matter the situation. Yes, I know how to hold my ground. Oh boy, I truly do… But only when provoked and necessary to defend myself or my family. In my eyes this is like “they” asked for it, not me. Despite the fact I tried at least 3 attempts to solve the situation in civilized manner. If “they” don’t know what “civilized manner” is, then “they” get the “bully” and it’s completely justified in my mind.

I tried. I tried again. Then again. Perhaps me, trying to behave like a normal human being looks like easy victim, I truly don’t know. And then the “bully” is stepping out and it’s an entirely different game. I don’t regret afterwards. I don’t feel guilty. It’s justified. There is no one that can convince me that I did something wrong.

But now the “bully” is fighting brutally, teeth and nails, feeding the “rage” and at this exact moment I barely hold them in.

With no reason.

It hasn’t been threatened, it hasn’t been attacked in any way.

It feels like they (the “bully” and the “rage” are ganging up against me and I don’t know how to respond to this attack as in reality, the REAL reality, there is no attack. If I give in and do what the part of me that it’s looking for justice – they win. If I give in and do what the that part that feels broken and robbed – they win.

How to explain to myself that I already won? This, actually, is so so wrong, I don’t even know where to start from. There is no winning and losing here. But this was so hard “put” into me, that I don’t know any other way. You either win or lose, right? But only if you compete in the Olympics for example.

And I am not competing in the Olympics. Looks like I am competing with myself and trust me, it’s a tough competition. In a way, if you look it from the funny side (because there’s always has to be a funny side) if I win – I lose, if I lose – I win. Only that “I”, that really, REALLY wants to win it’s not me. And I don’t even won’t to think of the consequences for my family. It’s not lie Jekyll and Hide, it’s like dozens of them, now throw in the mix dozens of Hulks and that pretty much describes the picture.

My therapist calls this one of my “protectors”. The “rage”. The one that I actually own my life to. And I will be eternally grateful that this particular “protector” saved me, but now it seems it can’t understand I am not at war anymore.

I understand that is completely normal to feel some degree of hate, contempt towards those monsters, which I had to live with, but they are not here anymore. They can never hurt me again in any way. I hold all the cards, I am completely independent and I don’t owe them absolutely nothing.

But what I feel is not that.

Deep down I want to crush them, slowly, painfully – the same way they crushed me – and I know exactly how to do it in the most sadistic way, specifically design for every single one of them. And I can. I really can, I know them, I know what drives them, I know what is most important for each of them, I know everything. And I play it in my head and it feels so good, so tempting.

And if it feels so good how come its wrong?

If at that particular moment, I look myself in the mirror it won’t be me. I don’t know who would be, but definitely not me. Am I the same monster as them? Or is just “part” of the “real” me that I have to tame and keep on a VERY short leash?

I hope it’s the second “option”… if it turns out It’s the first one then I’ll simply commit myself to a mental facility to be locked away immediately.

How come this could be “normal”? The way I feel I mean. It doesn’t “feel” normal. Perhaps I’d take the suggestion that this is “normal” if it wasn’t to such extremes. My therapist explained to me that this hate, this “rage” I feel, has been accumulating for nearly 40 years and now she, the “rage” knows why it’s there and DEMANDS justice.   

Only I can’t give it to her the way she begs me to do it.

I somehow how have to accept her, the “rage”, understand her, make amends and let go.

Here it comes the biggest problems of them all. Ok, I have no issues accepting her, “she” is part of me and I know why “she” is part of me. Ok, I can understand “her”. Completely. “She” has every right to fell what “she” feels. No arguing here from my side.

Them I have to make amends… I can’t even understand what that means. Amends? With what? With “her”? I just accepted her and understood “her”, I truly do. But it’s not just “her” in my mind.

How do you make amends with a doctor who sexually abused you?

How do you make amends with “my brother” who sexually abused me?

How do I make amends with my math teacher who sexually abused me?

No fucking way.

I will try, I will do my best, I will give the last drop of strength in me to be able to do this. And even so I’m not sure I’ll succeed.

And here it comes – let go.

Let go of what? Of the “rage”? Sure. Just give me a sec to say goodbye and I’ll send “her” on “her” way. Oh, hold on. I forgot. I don’t know how to do this. Even if I knew I’m not sure “she” will let go of me.