So, i have been having a difficult time, since stupid express scripts messed up again. i’ve been without one medicine for over a week, haven’t been allowed to leave the house for days because i couldn’t risk missing the delivery. Sir Raven’s meds were messed up too, but after the third time i called, i managed to make them too scared to not let me go pick her meds up at Walgreens.
i had to wait for her to be at work to make that call. Definitely not a pleasant demeanor going on. They had left her without BLOOD PRESSURE meds for a week, and i was totally over being patient anymore. By the end of that call, they had fixed it, and i was en route to walk to get her meds.
i finally got mine late afternoon. One side effect of going off cold turkey is nightmares. And boy have they been extra.
It’s not just nightmares, but memories, and so i fall asleep and am back in the shower when Dawn’s arm reaches in and grabs me by the throat. My toes are desperately trying to find footing, slipping around, before i can grasp what has happened. My brain slowly understands when her large hands and thick fingers easily hold me up against the shower wall and squeeze tight against my throat. Of course, i never saw her grab me, and my head had been under the water trying to wash my hair.
She looked at me, her eyes shone like the glint of a knife under the moonlight. Her voice was strangely soft, but deadly serious. “The only way you leave me is dead,” she said, waiting for it to sink in, watching my eyes. My chin quivered, my eyes huge, breath shallow, my hands are little birds in useless half flight. Satisfied, she lets me go, slowly, making sure that i can stand up. She told me to finish my shower, which i am doing with urgency. Everything must be right. Almost gently, she dries me off, and says, “You know what has to happen now.” The lock is in one hand, her belt in the other.
Later, we laugh about it, when i tell her Norman Bates has nothing on her and that she is lucky i didn’t pee.
Night terrors leave me exhausted, weak, needy. i spend a lot of time alone, feeling little, unable to focus and scared. Angry. i wake up and, for the first time in five years, don’t know where i am.
When i leave the house when Sir Raven is home, men talk to me. It is as if i have a neon sign over my head. i hate it. i hate almost everything about it. Men tell me to smile, tell me i am too pretty to be stressed, call me princess and little girl. Its like the energy from me is turned up to high vibration and i can’t make myself small or quiet enough to feel safe.
Of course, in the midst of night terrors, and doing the best i can during the day, i smoke some here and there. i feel bad about it. i feel angry that no one can stop me, that the weight of everything is on me. Always.
i try hard. i do. i try and be good, quiet. very quiet.
i realize i hit up against programming. Barb would beat me for going away in my head. i would turn toward the television, look in that direction, let myself drift away. But she would always know. Sometimes, she would try and be nice, pause the movie and stroke my face and remind me that i can’t go away anymore. She would give me another chance. But within a few minutes, i would be gone again, unable to control it. It would always make her beat me. i’d say most of the severe beltings i got from her were directly related to me going away in my head. i’d be covered in bruises from my ass to nearly my knee caps, and she would have to dress me for a few weeks and check to see that it wasn’t visible. Once i was already that bruised, she wasn’t concerned about that anymore, and i got punished a lot more for it.
i go away in my head here lots.
Strangely, when i am stomping around in my head, the Bigs know. i get a kind, “how are you?” text, the subtext of which is known to both of us. He may as well write, “Where are you little girl?” like he used to when i was angry inside. Even if i was sitting there in my spot on the sofa, doing absolutely nothing wrong, he knew. Nodding, he would calmly remind me what i need, and i’d bargain for a way out. “What if i can be good?”
What is very hard for me to understand is where this part of me hid-especially from me-until i was 18 and away from my mother. When i was five, i was very serious, very quiet, always helping, looking for ways to help. i would have been far too scared then to ever push back, to ever be naughty, to ever hurl stuffed animals in rage, say bad words because i was mad. i felt very confident that my mother would kill me if i dared. So the actual child parts, that can feel delight, anger, boredom, sadness-just didn’t exist until adulthood.
It can be hard.
i need a Little Vacation. Seriously. Just a few weeks of not having to get big at all, not having to worry about being hurt when the angry feelings come out, not having to stress about anything, treats, and more treats, and feeling happy to have happy good girl energy that i don’t have to endlessly monitor and make and fake-it-til-i-make-it.
Maybe its just the meds.