Monthly Archives: July 2012

I am disgusting.

Most of the time I consider myself to be non beautiful. It feels like I weigh 16 stones and I know that I don’t but that doesn’t matter because it is how I feel that matters. I’m struggling with feeling beautiful in my body, I feel disgusted, fat, used, molested and sometimes I just want to crawl out of my skin. I feel loads better when I eat healthy and exercise regularly the problem is that when I have my periods of depression I don’t have the energy to fight my bad thoughts. When I’m at the lowest I just want to eat, I eat until I feel sick because then I can blame the disgusting feelings on the food and not the real reason, which is that I can’t stand my own body because its been raped over 300 times. Where do I go from here? I’m sick of being fat and feeling disgusted by own body, I want to own my own body. I want to feel beautiful and I don’t mind having curves but I want to have them because I eat what I enjoy not because I eat so that I can survive just another hard period.

What I’ve been through has affected me in so many ways, it’s a long way to go but I will fight every step of it. Admitting my problem with food and how I feel about my body is a step. It’s a hard step because if you meet me, you wont be able to tell how I feel about myself. On the outside, you wont see any of what I write in this blog because I keep it to myself. Shame is not something you share is it something you hide.

Here is the truth, out load;

I am not comfortable in my own skin and how I feel don’t  match how I look. So when I have a dark moment I punish myself with eating loads just so my looks will match my feelings, the feelings of disgust and shame. Most of the time I feel so disgusted by myself I feel sick.

This is hurtful, I want to feel good about myself. I want to be able to be naked and not feeling used. There is so much shame, shame that I shouldnt carry but that I am stuck with. 

 

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I cant escape him

I’m sitting on the balcony, the sun has just set over the capital of my home country. The lights are lighting up the inner city and all the windows looks on far distance like tiny stars. Lights and stars gives the illusion of happiness but I know that what might look perfect on
the outside can be a disaster on a closer look. The summer night is colder than I expected it to be but the glass of wine keeping me company warms me up. A few hours ago a feeling of sadness came over me, it hurts and my heart aches. It was just a few minutes ago I realized where the sadness came from, I was watching a TV-show. The show was about obese people, I don’t have anything against obese people but the one who raped me was obese and obese people are triggers for what I tried so hard to suppress. I can feel the smell of him right now, smoke, sweat and coca cola. It’s like if he was sitting right next to me. The feeling is terrifying and I keep looking around me to make sure he isn’t here. It is impossible that he would be but the smell fools me. I feel suffocated. How can I escape him when where ever I go the memories and fear is right here with me?

It is time to call the police, to make the official report. I just can’t make the phone call. I want to. I need to. But how do I do it? I know that the police report just being around the corner and the fact that I finished the draft of my story just a few days ago makes it feel like I relive all of it again. I thought once would be enough but apparently not. Where will I go once I made the report? I’m terrified. I want to go away, I want to feel safe but if I learned something it
is that it doesn’t matter where I go because what I am escaping is what I carry with me and that I can never outrun. Right now I want to be held but I don’t know by who I just know I need it but I will never ask for it, I’m scared and I am scared to admit that I feel the way I do. I’ve always been strong, I’ve forced myself to be it, that is how I survived but now I realize that I can’t keep believing that strong is the only way. Now strong is to admit that I have no energy left to be strong on my own.

I always thought sharing with others that know what going through something really hard are the best ones to share with. I learned today that two people being hurt, scared and over sensitive at the same time is not always the best combination. I love my friends to death but I think that sometimes it is better to let the ones who are “ok” carry instead of sharing with those who already are caring their own story. Sometimes the energy is just enough to carry yourself.

Every time I take a breath it hurts, I keep telling myself that for every second of pain I let go of something that I won’t have to carry and that the pain of letting it out lets me know that I am feeling what I go through. For every day my burden will be lighter, some days the difference is not even noticeable but one day I will notice that the weight on my shoulders and chest is gone and I can finally feel free.

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Im falling in love

This blog is about me telling my story and me living through it. So far it has been about all the rough spots, the hard times, the “I can’t breathe” moments. My writing is a surviving and putting it behind me strategy, I write whatever that comes to mind, I write whatever my fingers put together on the keyboard. The posts write them self most of the times, I don’t plan what I want to write, I write exactly how I feel in that exact moment. That is how I make the moments bearable and a tiny bit easier to live through.

Today I want to capture, for me a rather rare moment, a moment of feeling good about myself and a day of smiles without reasons. Yesterday I heard myself saying, “I deserve to be loved for who I am and I deserve to live my life without pretending to be who I am not just in order to hide what I am scared of showing. I deserve to be loved even though my history differs from most people’s”. I think that this is the first sign of me falling in love. Falling in love with myself. I am worth loving and if I can’t love me, no others can either. So I welcome the feeling of love, maybe I can for the first time in my life experience how life is when I love and appreciate who I am?

I texted my friend on my way to work this morning. I wrote;

My hair is dirty, I am wearing a dress and a pink dress jacket to work and I look like shit but still feeling fabulous. What is wrong with me?”

She replayed:

I think you are what normal people would call happy!”

So there it was, I could even though I didnt have the best hairday feel absolutely amazing. I guess that is how you feel when you know you got it even when you look like shit. Looks is just looks, the inside thats the shit!

 

 

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My inside died when I was young

I’ve been listening on that song all day, repeatedly. The phrase “ we are not forgotten”  comforts me in a mildly hurting way. It makes me feel like it is ok to be sad, it is ok to be hurt and that I am not forgotten. I have not forgotten myself, I still havent given up and there is hope. I hurt when I listen to that song but I hurt in a good way. It is like I can let go of some pain through that song by not escaping my feelings. I sent it to my closest friends today and asked them to listen to it and to be there for me where ever they are through that song.

When I’m not ok, when life is harder than other days I can not feel too much because it feels like I will break. I am on the verge of breaking down, the mildest attempt of kindness or love breaks downs all my walls and defences. You know when you are so busy with just holding it together so when someone asks you how you are, all you can say is fine but you know if they ask again or show any kind of physical comfort the tears will start to roll down your cheeks and the pain will hit you harder than a car on a freeway. This day has been one of those days. I wrote an email to my mother last night, telling her how I feel and that I am sorry for not being able to be physically close to her right now. She loves me so much that I cannot handle it right now, it is to intense and it will break down all my walls and I am not there yet. I wrote that I love her and that she is the best mother someone could ever wish for and that I know that she is there even when I push away. I feel guilty for pulling away from my family but right now I can’t do anything else. When I woke up today she had sent me a response, I read it and the email was one of those second lines of how are you and that hug that breaks down your walls. I cried, from the heart, from the soul and there was a sadness inside of me aching in every part of my body. It reminded me of the purpose to my fight, I fight for me and that what was she wrote. She told me she knew, my mum always know before I do. She wrote that she loves me no matter what, she loves me through everything I have to go through even if it means pulling away from her sometimes. The pureness and the honesty in her response helped me to feel that it is ok to be not ok. She is honest with what I go through, she sais that it is hell and that it is ok to be hell. I need that. I sometimes forget that. I have not yet accepted that I am not ok, that I have a wound greater than words can describe and that it is infected and hidden in deep scar tissue. When mum sais it is ok to be sad I can let go of my own defence and allow myself to be hurt.

The song playing now is Anna Ternheim, Shoreline. The words are like knives.

I’m not the boy that I used to be
this town has got the youth of me
all the eyes turn hollow
from the work of sorrow “

I know that there is only one thing I can do and that is to not give up. And I wont, I wont ever give up. But days like this one I have to remind myself of why I bother to fight. I fight because a life without going through this is no life at all. It is a life with no emotions, no feelings and no true love. I’m terrified but determined. He has already taken so much I wont give him more. I will heal, I will be ok, I just have to accept that I am not there yet but feeling like this is part of the way of getting there. Feeling at all is a huge progress for me because for so many years I did not feel at all. I was completely numb, I did what I was told and I stayed busy all time. I never gave myself the opportunity to feel. I survived that way but I can’t live that way. Right now it is not surviving everyday anymore, not it is surviving the hard days and learning to live the other ones.

I am responsible for my own actions but I can not control all that happens to me. I have to accept that I did not do this to me. He did. I am not responsible for what I have been through but I am responsible for how I act my way out of it.

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I TOLD IT.

“When you understand that what you’re telling is just a story. It isn’t happening anymore. When you realize the story you’re telling is just words, when you can just crumble it up and throw your past in the trashcan, then we’ll figure out who you’re going to be.”
 
I DID IT.
I WROTE IT AND I SHARED IT.
IM NUMB.

ICECREAM TIME

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Pretty smile hides dark secret

I’m sitting, I’m starring, I’m feeling, I’m hurting, I’m breathing, I’m trying. There is a lot of “I’m” but if you would see me through my livingroom window right now all you would see is a girl sitting on her couch with a laptop in her knee. You wouldn’t see all the “I’m” because no one can tell the struggle I feel inside just from looking at me. Right now there is a war inside of me, there is a lot of “I want to“and there are more of “But I just don’t”. It’s not that I don’t want to deal with my emotions, write my story, let the pain out and all of that it is just that; I’m sitting, I’m starring, I’m feeling, I’m hurting, I’m breathing, I’m trying.

I want to write down my story so I can report the rapist, the sexual abuser, the one who stole something to the police. I’ve even opened the document and I can’t even bare to read what has already been written. That is how much it hurts to face what I’ve been through. Writing the story is accepting that it has really happened and it happened to me. I keep thinking that I’m passed the accepting phase but I just realised that I’m not because if I were I wouldn’t avoid writing the rest of the story. I think I have accepted that it happened to me but not all of what it means. I still can’t say it out loud;

  • I have been raped

  • I have been sexually abused

As soon as the two sentences above was written I caught myself looking everywhere else but on the computer screen. It’s hard to keep writing, because there it is in black bold letters. It is my story. My past. My secret. My pain. With tears in my eyes I try to force myself to read it, over and over and over and over again. I don’t know what else to do, what else can I do? I keep telling myself that for every time I read it I take one step closer to realising that I can’t escape it. It is what it is. It will never be easy, it will never go away but one day maybe I can read it and not look away. I hope that I can turn it around, find some kind of strength in it. I need to find a positive outcome of it because without it, whats the point in fighting it?

I’ve learned one thing from it. Never ever judge a person on his or her looks, smile or eyes. The saying never judge a man without walking a day in his shoes is pure human knowledge. Even the prettiest smiles, the kindest eyes and the most fashionable looks can hide the deepest pain, the darkest secrets and the blackest past. We have all had different opportunities in how to handle situations so painful you’re thinking of giving up breathing just to stop the unbearable pain. You could never tell what I live through every day by just looking at me, you cant even tell by knowing me. I am a living example of that the prettiest smiles hides the darkest secrets. So “Dont ever judge a man without walking a day in hus shoes”.

Im gathering all the courage I have, I need it, it is story from hell telling time.

“We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.” -Chuck Palahniuk

It still hurts every day and for that I hate you.

 

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