I glanced over this blog and her sister blog, "Magical World" this weekend. So many posts about how I'm doing better and healing and happier and learning how to have real relationships with people and other nonsense. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I believed if I said it often enough, it would be true.
The real truth is that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, things don't change and real, lasting recovery doesn't really happen. I know I'm not supposed to say that. It sounds hopeless and self-defeating.
One decade. I have tried for one decade to make a life for myself where I could accept all the crap and still be a person who is supportive, loving, and real. I wanted to prove that I'm not tainted forever by the things that happened a long time ago. I wished to be someone who was a joyful part in the lives of people I love.
I think, though, that maybe none of that was real.
Last night I sat with Jeff in his home. We won't ever play or laugh as we did before we were molested. It sits between us, reminding us that with one misstep Jeff will be on a drinking binge and I will be caught in a world of PTSD which slowly sucks away the ability to think logically and love healthily. One day I'm fine-- the next day I can't remember why I wanted to live in the first place.
Jeff has medication to help him with the alcoholism and depression. As I'm unable to take medication, I can run. But Friday morning my run was difficult and depressing. I looked at what I was doing: wearing out my new hip so that I can survive bouts of PTSD for the rest of my life. I'm not sure what kind of life this is.
I expect that I'll be told all the reasons I have to live. I'm grateful for that. I need to hear it, and I believe it. But I'm so tired.
A week from Tuesday I will join Jeff in the location where we lost our innocence. We will give testimony in person, which will be reviewed by the district attorney and attorney general. At that point it will be out of my hands. Jeff has said he wishes to prosecute if a case can be made, and I have said I will support his wishes, whatever they may be.
But I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to think about it. I want to be someone else.
Therapist has made a trip to My Town. He will see me this afternoon-- on Sunday-- around 5:30 p.m. Darrin says Therapist is really worried about me and that they both care about me. These are good things, but right now they don't mean anything to me. Maybe I'm just scared?
I have so much to do. I can't concentrate. It's been a couple of days since I've been able to eat. Sleep is a very, very bad place for me right now. Darrin tells me that I don't have to do this. Therapist tells me the same thing-- but then he says I've done the right thing by making a report. I'm a little distraught right now.