So I’m really blogging?
I wrote an entry, and apparently a couple people even read it. Weird. It’s like a public diary. I should confess that not only am I not a “real blogger”, I’m having a hard time even figuring out how to do this, but I won’t ask anyone for help because I don’t want to tell a single soul about this blog. If anyone reads it, it best be strangers only! I don't like that it's attached to my profile but I'm not letting anyone know about it.
When this unspeakable thing happened, I tried to talk to my friends. And what was my family. Everyone said, “I’m here, talk to me, I’ll listen.” Then a funny thing happened….two of my closest friends told me THEY had nightmares about it…THEY felt traumatized. Well shit, it was bad enough for me, why would I want to lay that on anyone else? So I shut up and shut down. I stopped talking about “IT.” I found myself unable to share the gory details in my head with anyone.
I went to a therapist. She didn’t want to hear it either! Whenever I tried to touch on what I really needed to purge myself of, oh boy, did the subject manage to take a turn, twist, or redirection. I got the picture, I’m not stupid, and I’m a sensitive person to other people’s feelings. Soon I realized that no matter how many people said they were willing to listen and hear the details, I risked traumatizing others in doing so….so I shut up and shut down.
There was one friend who I could talk to, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her. She happened to be visiting me when it happened from another state. She pretty much saved me by being here. She had been through so much with me…I did not want to lay any more on her than I already had. Thank God for her.
Suicide Survivor forums were helpful at first. Then I had to get away and stop reading everybody else’s tragedies. It was too gut wrenching.
I read a great book by Beverly Cobain. It helped so much. It explained everything. “Dying to be Free.” Now I knew. If only I’d read it before.
This is all too much for one day. Way too much.
Thanksgiving was hard, That was the day I knew I could no longer keep this bottled up inside. I can post on my Facebook page I’m sad, a picture of us, a memory, all that…but there is this thing…
It’s this private place that no one knows about. This private, deep place inside me where the unspeakable horror is something even I haven’t been able to visit for more than a minute or two…or at all really. I can only see it in a fleeting glimpse and know it’s there. It’s a place where I want to double over a deep, dark, hole and just scream into it, hollow, wailing screams, into a deep, endless pit until there is no scream left in me….I want to scream the horror out of me. I sometimes visualize myself doing this.
But no one can know this.
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