If there ever was a time for me to simply just shut down and cry, would anyone judge me for doing it now? It seems as though I’ve waited long enough to just check out emotionally, but that seems to be exactly where I’m headed. Three years seems to be long enough to hold on, right? Or maybe I wasn’t holding on, per say, but simply ignoring the aching stake in my chest, far enough away that I don’t have to worry, but close enough that with every beat I could feel it inching closer to my heart.
The flashbacks are getting worse, and I don’t know why… They’re vivid, more real than they have been since they started. I can’t hold my boyfriend anymore… I fell to the ground, catatonic with a flashback… for kissing him… Why… They’ve never been this bad, and I feel completely unable to counter them.
I want to scream I HATE YOU! JUST STOP! JUST GO AWAY! YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE ANYMORE! But what good would that do. My neighbors must think I’m crazy. My boyfriend must think I’m crazy.
I think I’m crazy.
Every night he visits me, the undying image of a hated man who once held me in chains. He’s gone now. God knows where. Lord knows I don’t care. Or do I? What would I do if I saw him?
I don’t know.
I don’t want to think about it.
I don’t want to think about anything.
I just want to sleep, cover myself up in my brand new 15 pound weighted blanket. It covers me when Andrew can’t, but I’m going to be honest and tell you it’s not the same as a satisfying hug.
I don’t know if the EMDR is working. I don’t want to go back. Every time I go it seems I remember more about it, more than I knew before. I just want to forget it like I had for 11 years, and maybe it just simply won’t come back. The darkness in my sleep is satisfying, but there’s that 6:00 alarm that wakes me up into another nightmare I can’t seem to change.
Shit. I’m crying again. No on is home. Home alone. PLAID PALS? Who am I kidding. No one knows what that means. I hate him for what he did. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to get over it. I just didn’t want it to happen in the first place.
I can’t check out, though.
I have you.
You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.
And let’s not forget you.
I hate you…
I’m not going to think about it right now.
I have Spanish homework…