Today I have been dealing with severe anxiety all day long. Nothing I did seemed to help and my exhaustion and fatigue made today nearly unbearable. I just wanted to sob my eyes out and there is nothing the matter. My life is decent and I got word today that I would not be losing my job nor would I be replaced while I went on medical leave for my surgery. So I got good news today, even then. today was just a bad day.
I am home now, alone in my lair. (For those of you, who don’t know, the lair is my bedroom, free of pet dander and my little sanctuary.) I am listening to old school Coldplay as I write this, trying to get to the bottom of this anxiety issue. It could be because I get my car back soon after T-boning my own car on a median after falling asleep at the wheel… I haven’t driven since then and I am anxious to do so.
But I don’t think that’s it. My guess is that I have a couple of trauma anniversaries coming up and now that I am thinking of those past traumas, I think the anxiety is coming from their upcoming anniversary dates.
June 13th, 2018. I was raped nearly three years ago. So why is it affecting me now? I think whenever I go on a new online date with a man, the topic of the rape comes up pretty soon after we meet because I gotta discuss boundaries with them for things I will and will not do.
I think the rape anxiety also has to do with the fact that I was scrolling through Tinder about a month ago and I found my abuser on there. I went dead silent and looked through his pictures which had no biography. But I knew. It was indeed him. Yet I didn’t report him even then.
It’s something I regret still and I keep playing the scenario over in my head and I can’t get it out of my head. Just the motions of sex and then me screaming, “No, stop!” To me passed out on the ground, and him continuing to rape me in the shower. Then him giving me chlamydia. The thought I keep having was this wasn’t the first time it’s happened nor the last. I could have reported it and it would be the last; I would’ve been the last… I can’t live with myself knowing that he did that to anyone else, but I’m afraid, a coward even. No one would believe me. Why would Joe Cahill rape me? Why were you there? Why weren’t you being safe? It’s your fault, my fault, my fault, my fault.
I can’t get this noise out of my head. And to think after that I was molested by what I considered to be a friend of mine. And then getting blackout drunk and getting a cigarette burned out on my leg, leaving a large scar.
To have so much abuse and trauma happen to one person, I don’t know why I relive everything so vividly over and over again. It doesn’t help it only makes things worse. Much worse. I can’t do this, I need to get out of my head, I need to run, but I can’t. I can’t go anywhere. I am trapped, trapped in the lair with the thoughts that speak loudly and do not cease. What can I do, what can I do?
I am blogging, that’s good. I am writing everything that pops into my head as of this very moment. Good thing I can type these rampant thoughts out and can hear the tap tap tap of the keys. It’s rhythmic and soothing.
Now I feel sad. Almost empty inside except for this morbid sadness. I am deescalating which is good. Time to pop a Xanax and chill out. Calm down. Relax. Get some real sleep tonight. Try not to cry.