I created this blog in June with the intention of writing down everything I wanted to/couldn’t say out loud, hoping that it would in some way benefit me, that it would cleanse my mind, my body and my soul. It’s now October, and considering this is only my second post, i’d say I haven’t gotten very far.
I was referred to a counsellor earlier this year, unfortunately I was only able to attend 3 sessions due to unforeseen circumstances, but I feel like this is the one thing that could actually help me. Talking. I need to talk. I need to tell someone what’s happened, what I’ve gone through, what I have to deal with on my own every single day of my life. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t carry on having to keep everything in side. I can’t. I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO.
But I do.
It’s what I’ve done my whole life, or so it seems. I’ve tried confiding in 2 people – my childhood best-friend, she thought it was a joke and announced it publicly amongst school friends, so naturally I played along and laughed it off; the one, an ex-partner, well, he just plain didn’t give a shit, and so I never spoke of it again.
I met the love of my life last year. He is aware that I suffer from anxiety, stress and depression – I know that he doesn’t understand this side of me fully, although that cannot be helped when I don’t understand it myself. In my first session with the counsellor she said something which instantly brought back memories of something I have tried to repress since childhood. In my second session I finally spoke about it properly for the first time, I completely broke down. She advised me that if my partner and I had a mutual love and trust for one another, that I should tell him too. I should let him help me, let him simply be there for me.
Since this day, my partner has been aware that there is something I need to tell him – he hasn’t pushed me to talk – is he being considerate and waiting for me to find the right time to tell him? Or is it yet another case of someone not caring what I have to say?
Since this day, what happened to me in my childhood has been at the forefront of my mind. I feel that it will continue to be until I talk, until people know the truth. I could list a million reasons why I’ve kept everything to myself; I’m scared, I want to protect people, I was too young at the time to know what was happening and now I feel like I’ve left it too late to do anything about it, I don’t want to lose the people I love. I wouldn’t know where to start, when was the right time, the right place? And so, I didn’t say a word to him.
Last night we had an argument via text. To paraphrase, my partner sent me the following:
Blame me or blame your ex or anxiety whatever!
I saw red. I finally spat the words out in pure and utter hatred
Ohhh maybe blame it on the sexual abuse too!!!!!!
To which I received the response:
Nothing to do with me so why should I take the fucking shit!
So there we have it. Back to square one. Alone, broken, and utterly disgusted at how vile the man I loved turned out to be in the one moment when I truly needed him. I tried.