Sunday, January 8, 2017

Hope Floats

After just 2 years, my ex was able to train me to never speak of the good things in life. To do so was to risk bringing down his wrath on the entire household. He would pick fights with me, snap at Mya, and push Book out of the way even if he had to go out of his way to do it.

Before we had started dating, my ability to see the positive in everything, no matter how hard, was one of the things that kept me from killing myself. I had been told I "oozed optimism" by more than one person. But after, between my depression, CPTSD, fibromyalgia, and the memory of his voice in my head, every single day has become a battle to want to live. When pain is a part of your every moment, whether you're sleeping or awake, just living is torture.

With that skill taken from me, I've found myself fighting to find any little reason I could to just stay alive one more minute.

The first time I honestly wanted to kill myself was about 3 weeks after we started dating. I had it planned and it was messy.

I remember he had screamed at me for hours about how worthless I was and how I made him miserable because I treated him so badly. In his eyes, I was abusive and not worth the dirt under his feet. This event was to repeat itself every few days for the two years we were together. Coupled with the constant molesting and sexual encounters that weren't rape only because I didn't say no, and I was in a total haze of panic non-stop for those two years.

It's exhausting, and I still don't know why I let him treat me that way, or how I found the strength to fight back and get out. But I did both.

Now, without my ability to see the positive, every little thing causes me to break. Shopping is a nightmare. Walking the dog causes panic attacks. Visiting with loved friends makes me question why I'm still breathing.

I don't know if I'll ever get my hope back, but for now, I'm still fighting... I guess there's still hope even if I don't feel it.

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