Today was another day of group therapy.
Before I started group, I was told that it might make things worse. It might make the flashbacks more frequent. It might make me relive it all again.
I was at the precipice when I started group. I was all hatred and homicide. My past and my present were ganging up on me.
That was a few weeks ago. I've been choosing to laugh instead of cry. Often I pause and feel every molecule in my being. I am heavy with the weight of it all.
It's a struggle against hate. It's a struggle against unbearable sadness. It's a struggle against curling in the fetal position and sobbing.
I have flashbacks to things I only remember with my skin. I am grounded in the present yet I am a child, hiding in a closet. I can stand in my kitchen and feel the fingers grasping my throat thirty years ago. Ten minutes later, I am a ghost in the recent past, reliving what I read on the police report. I am watching in horror as it all unfolds in front of me, powerless to prevent it.
It's like a burn. People are telling me I have to scrub the scabs off in order to heal. I am so very tired and this journey is so very long.
After a day that included not only group but a pap and a mammogram, I remember what it is like to have no ownership over my body. I remember opening the door to madness when I was nineteen and stepping through. I have so much more to lose this time. I have to hold on.
On days like this, when every moment seems like a chant against self destruction, I have to tell myself what would happen if I take the easy way out. If I commit an act of violence, I would be giving this horrible loser more years of my life. If I choose not to wake up tomorrow, he wins.
There are times when you have to look at the world in a grain of sand. Nothing else matters right now except for the fact that I can't let this bastard win.
But I am so tired and this mountain is so steep.