Either they’re gone or I’m gone. 

Either way. 

tired. fat. ugly. worthless. hopeless.

boring. selfish.

fake. sneaky. lying.

quiet. invisible. gone.

freedom. peace.

One of the times I went to hospital due to unmanageable pain from my endometriosis, they wanted to do an internal , vaginal ultrasound 

I was already in so much pain I couldn’t walk, but agreed to it. 

The woman who did it was great, really kind, but she had to do it and it was so painful. I found it so traumatic, the way I had to sit and stay there while she moved the reader or whatever it’s called around inside me. I was crying and moaning, I felt so sick and sweating but I’d already vomited everything up. 

That combination of things, being so stuck and in pain and I guess feeling vulnerable reminded me of my brother in law. That experience really helped me make the later decision to have the hysterectomy. I did not want to ever feel that or be placed in that position again (literally or figuratively). 

And I still have anger at 💍 for questioning my decision, for saying I hadn’t thought enough about it, for saying it was such an extreme measure. I knew the decision was right and was angry that even if she couldn’t agree, I felt that my decision about my body wasn’t respected and that the experiences I had with it were mine from which to draw on, not her ideas or experiences. Sure, she didn’t know about the brother in law but I was expecting my decision and my ability to make the best decision for me to be more accepted. 

I had to do it, not only because of the pain that I was really sick of, and it was getting worse, but because it did effect my mental health. I have never regretted the decision.

I had worked that morning, 7-3.30; the standard shift for new 1st years. Still didn’t get home until about 5 as getting to and from work took a train and a bus and a lot of waiting. 

I’d only been there a few months, obviously that was overstaying my welcome. He was there when I got home, also after his morning shift. He wasn’t any different than usual, watching something on tv. 

I had an early shower, I was going to go to bed early again, was still tired from the new work and hours. Had to get up about 5.30. I left the bathroom and walked to the bedroom, with just a towel wrapped around me, as everyone did. All the rooms opened to the lounge area so when I came out of the bathroom he could see me. The bedroom was the next room. I looked at him, not in an intentional way, it’s just that he was almost straight ahead before I turned left into the bedroom. He looked at me. I replayed that over and over and over for a long time, years, thinking about what expression I had on my face, did I look too long, should I have even looked, why did I look, do I not even realise the way I looked and did that say something to him. Maybe I was so oblivious to what I did or signs that I gave out. 

I was just walking. I got through the doorway of the bedroom starting to close the door and he was rushing at me, sort of half running it seemed,  but maybe not it just wasn’t much of a distance. I was surprised and turned to him and he was just there right up close. It felt like I looked at him for a long time but it wasn’t. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t know what was happening, I was a bit still perhaps , a bit unsure, I knew something wasn’t right, I had the tension in my stomach , the brain whir. He said hello, I didn’t say anything. He’d grabbed both my wrists and hands with his, holding them together against each other. He was so strong, even though he was slightly shorter than me. I already knew that, he’d played rough before when I was younger, just mucking around.  I was pretty skinny at the time, I guess most people would have been stronger then me. 

I’m still trying to hold my towel on, very aware of that, I don’t want to let that go, holding my armpits tight and holding my hands against my chest and the towel. I can smell his body odour and beer. I didn’t want to freak out. 

Why was it so easy for him? He’s pushed me back against the bed. It’s an old single bed the room is not very big and has a lot of furniture or furniture that’s probably too big for the room, there’s not a lot of floor space. He pushed me down saying ‘come on’ sort of patronising but aggressive. I know what’s happening now. I know what he wants. I’m trying work this out in my head, how can this not happen, I can’t let this happen, what if my sister comes home. It’s forever, its no time. I don’t think I said anything, I may have said ‘what’, my head was whirring too much. I didn’t yell or scream, or really say anything. I didn’t say no. I didn’t hit him. I did try to sort of keep him away from the touching me, from leaning against me but I had nowhere to go I couldn’t move forward just trying to move my body away but I don’t think I can. He leans his body right against me , pushes me back. 

Why, I can’t work out why. I’m lying half on the bed. He’s half kind of laying on me pushing on me, against me, he doesn’t really feel heavy, like crushing heavy, just strong heavy. I don’t want to breathe and I don’t want to hear. 

He says come on and what wrong. 

I can smell him. He’s holding my hands pushing them against me . He pushes my leg out at my knee I just had no strength. His hands feel so strong. He’s pushing on me so I can’t move my leg down, pushing into my groin. I cant get from under him. With his arm between us and his other arm pushing me. Hes holding himself and pushes into me. It’s too late then, it’s clicked over, something changes, its all over me, I hate everything, I hate everyone, I can’t really see him anymore, I don’t want to breathe. I think, what am I supposed to do now. He’s fucking me and I’m wondering what I’m meant to do. How long will I be like this. What can I do. He’s pushing on me and my leg is hurting, my leg is cramping, everywhere is hurting. Inside, outside,. But he keeps pushing. Did I say anything? I don’t think so. I think I made noises but more panicked whining , maybe it was just in my head.  I’m crying. He stops, he comes and he stops, he stays there . Breathing.  I don’t know what to do. He takes himself out of me, pushing against my hands. He says ok, stay there. 

He gets off me and stands up and says ok like a question. I don’t say anything. I’m not sure if I’m looking at him or if I’m looking anywhere in particular. I think I’m looking at him. Hes standing but leaning towards me a bit, sort of leaning over. He’s not tall and it was a highish bed so it seemed close even though he had stood up. And again he says stay there. He walks away. Just walks away. He’s done. Leaves the room and closes the door. I stay there. What do I do, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What about my sister. 

I lie there, I curl up and stay there with my towel and the bedspread pulled around. I don’t know what else to do. I felt so low and hopeless. I think I cried because I felt so hopeless. I was trapped by the hopelessness. I watched the light go from the room. I didn’t want to move, as if moving I would have to then keep moving. I felt disgusting and if I moved I would feel that disgusting even more.  I knew he had come in me and that made me feel disgusting, I don’t know how to get rid of that, how was I going to get that out of me. Don’t move until I know. 
My leg hurt. My groin hurt, my vagina hurt. I did get up, to have a cigarette, I don’t know how much later it was, an hour, two hours, I don’t know. It was dark. I smoked out the window. Put a jumper on and pyjama bottoms.  I wasn’t supposed to smoke in the bedroom. My leg was sore, stiff, walking on it was sore. I needed to pee but I did not want to go out there. I could hear the tv. After a while I tried to pee into the bunched up towel, it took ages to be able to pee and it hurt. I tried to wipe myself clean but I didn’t have any water. 

I lay in bed thinking about it. Trying to work out why. And generally just feeling like I wanted to disappear. I guess I slept at some point and I consciously didn’t turn the alarm on at some point. I didn’t go to work the next morning. I didn’t want to go anywhere. 

I didn’t want to leave the room today. I don’t feel strong enough. I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t feel strong enough.

Interesting but embarrassing.

What I really want is for it to disappear; for it not to be connected to me at all, not something that was given to me and that I now own. There is an irrational idea and hope that one day it won’t be there.

I think that by telling someone, talking about it, saying what actually happened, there perhaps will be a magical process of it then fading, reducing its intensity, not being so visible, and maybe even leaving altogether. But I also know the unreality of that. Does that stop me?

As a kid I loved the character the Bionic Woman, not only because she had a bionic dog, but because she had such physical strength and could overpower anyone. I imagined that was me and that I could lift my mother up and throw her over the fence into the creek. I thought it would also just make me happy to be that strong, that everything would be happy. Where can I find that strength?

There are layers to why you won’t or can’t believe me when I ‘discuss’ their actions.

Of course there’s the standard, typical “it’s not happening, it didn’t happen”. But also that you cannot possibly understand – I can’t explain it and it can’t be understood in words – and you can’t believe something you don’t understand or comprehend. It isn’t understandable. Its un-real. But it’s so everything to me, it is me, I am that.

You believe me now and you don’t know, but once you know you won’t believe me. Not sure why they don’t line up. Perhaps there is never any real ‘knowing’. It’s not a book, or a movie, or a case study. It doesn’t fit into 50 minute segments.

How can I believe you? If you were to some level/s believe me that somehow would perhaps indicate a level of care and connection. Not sure how I feel about that. Guilty, obligated, responsible.

I sound angry. I am. At myself mainly.

By detailing individual or types of events doesn’t explain the broader context which compounded those events. Something as simple as him making me sit on his lap in the lounge room is benign, yet even now makes me nauseous, and carried an element of fear and confusion and that in some way was just a continuation of what he always did. Even if he didn’t do anything that time. Each time was a hundred times.

This is not where I thought I would be, I am not the person I thought I would be, I am not doing the things I thought I would be doing, I don’t live like I thought I wanted to.

Last year, last decade, when I got out.

I thought I would be a strong, safe, content person, making decisions that made my life and others better. Contributing, being something, or at least feeling some value. Connecting with others.

Not carrying that person, not being controlled by history, not hating.

What a farce. Where is the purpose, apart from routine and not dying.

Once E goes, there will be one less reason to stay connected, one that means something to me.

Despondent quiet calm.

This is when I consider revenge and revenge actions. This is when I consider dying and suicide actions.

When I retreat, shut down, feel the disgust and vile enveloping me.

Strange, because it is also when there is some sense of empathy for that person, to what happened to that person.

How many before and after events do people generally have in their life?

What about the no befores, because it always was. Always waiting, always unsure, unsure about everything, always awkward. Maybe it wasn’t like that but it seems like it was.

What mood would my father be in. Was he staying in. Was he drinking. Would he be watching tv or would he go to the shed. Would I have to sit on his lap. Would he come to the bathroom. Would he touch me. Would he love me.