I have not altered the letters, not even spelling mistakes as they are a piece of my history as it was written, so apologies if it does not read right or well!!
DEAR Pam 31.10.10
Dear Pam, 03.11.10
Dear Pam 22.09.2010
Ive been contemplating whther or not to write this tonight
but well I cant help myself. Its like the beast has made me stroll out of bed
and come down in the depths of the dark night and write my inner most thoughts,
to you. I cant see the keyboard and I’m squinting. I have a burning feeling on
my belly and I cant sleep at all. One moment I’ll put on the light. That’s
better.
So I am laid in bed and all I can think of is writing this
letter because these demons are far from gone. Every waking moment I am
consumed. By him, guilt and anger. I was in bed just laying there after having
some sexual contact with my husband which I enjoyed but yet I could not sleep afterward. Of course his head hit the
pillow and boom…out for the count. This new lady today told me to use
distraction techniques to stop me from incubating the ‘dark’ thoughts for
longer than nesacary but she aint the one hqaving them and its harder than you
think, and exhausting. I’ve tried all evening and I can’t relax for distracting
myself and now I am here having cut my self raw and still not asleep! How can
distraction be a good thing? On Friday I consoled myself with the fact I would
n ot wake up, yes death was the only option. I was happy all day. Since I woke
up the next day having failed (I don’t know how many paracetomols it takes to
shut this beast down) and I felt shit, shit beyond shit, like maggots and the
shight they reproduce. Sick to the stomach I was, not because of the after
effects of the pills, no that was a blast compared to my minds activities. So
having scared my husband rotten, cut my arms to bits, failed to overdose
properly and had to get up as normal for my kids the next day, that was the
lowest. Lowest of the low they say. I barely spoke all day, just stared numbly
into space contemplating why I was still in the god forksaken hell hole of a
place. But that’s it. I did not distract myself again all weekend and I slept,
when I should and a little more. Yes, I walked as a zombie, yes I kept to
myself and never entered outside once. No, I didn’t wash myself, brush my hair
or teeth and I cant remember how many times I changed my clothes because they
were wrong on my skin. Wrong been they just felt wrong. In the end I settled
for my pj’s, why? Well why not? God this seems so grim. I’m frowning at what I
have written yet I suppose its all the truth. Grim is what it is. Sorry for
that. So back to what I was saying I slept, no distraction, I battled my
thoughts and dealt with it…fell into slumber but today, I get this woman saying
do all I csan to distract myself from my thoughts and here I am writing my
thoughts because when I stop distracting my them, when I go to bed for example,
what comes rushing in?
I think these people, barr you, think that this is easy.or
something. She doesn’t know what you or I know however what makes her the
expert at telling me how to handle this beast. In fact who gives anyone that
right? I should be able to hablde things properly but I cant, that’s for sure.
Does this mean therefore that someone else should make these decisions for me.
I find this service somewhat contradictory. They numb me with these pills
(which to be honest give me indigestion rather than sanity) and then they tell
me how to feel. I try tell them and they say its normal to feel like this in my
situation. ‘Normal?’ I mean jesus crist normal? I mean I relaise that thousands
of women (and men) have been through this and maybe worse which is therefore
sad that this sensation to dispose of myself is common throughout this whole process.
Trauma. Something is a miss if this is ‘normal’, and for those others. If we
felt brave enough and don’t get me wrong those people who do the right thing I
bow my head to but for the others, the ones who are vunerable, the ones who are
manipulated over time, our ‘normal’ is not their ‘normal’ trust me. Does this
make any sense?
Pam you seem to have a special way of making me talk like I
used to. I’m writing this and I am talking about the present rather than the
past, which has to be a good thing right? Although I’m now wincing having
mentioned the past and I catch a glimpse of TR in my mind. Its true
isn’t it. He will haunt me forever. Full stop. I tried writing that I will
learn to live with the ghost but how can I? I don’t want to.
One thing this new lady today told which did make sense was
to do with him. I always consired him constantly trying to seek me out over
these three years through text, work and where I live in order to recreate this
fantasy all over again but in reality I pose a threat. I am a threat to him. If
I crumble, he knows I may speak out hense he gains control by getting in
contact again, checking things out, reining me in like a little love sick
puppy. I never thought of it like that, he was actually making sure things were
coather, you know all clear. And once he had established that, because I would
take the bait everytime, he would then pursue a disgusting conversation. My
obsession to reply to this man is beyond me. Why would I want to send any tyoe
of a reply other than ‘you fucking twat of a bsatarding man, touch me or
contact me or my family again you freak and I’ll personally rip you balls off
with a spoon and place them next to wifes head in bed with a cup of tea and
brief note about your outdoor pursuits, oh and yes I have proof you fool, test
me, I dare you.xx’ we can’t forget the crosses those patronsing crosses, the
ones that bring back the ‘sshh, be a good girl’ expression he always gave
having done his worst. That’s the reply he deserves yet for some reason I
always want to reply with niceties. Why? This eats me up Pam, I tell you. I
suppose its because I spent my time protecting my family before and myself by
being so nice to him. Being nice meant it gave me some control, I felt like I
could manipulate him in some way not to come after me. If I was nice he was
nice and this meant he would leave me alone. And now here I am craving to do
this, be nice, protect myself, my family, yet I know that if I do this I will
jeopardise everything. My husband will not understand, neither will my mum or
dad. My support worker may do but the biggest will be the police. These POVA
police people who I told the lot to, would they appreciate investigating this
for me in the future and finding that I was nice to him, doesn’t work in my
favour does it? Yet the obsession is still there. I want to go to him, be near
him so that I know where he is. I don’t need to be that close but I need to
know where he is, watch him as he watches me. Shift his control over to me. God
I could get in the car now and sit by his house waiting for him to emerge. Not
sure what would come next but I feel like this most days, every day, because I
haven’t replied. I keep trying to guess hwt he is thinking, whether he is
panicking (which is what I want) but is he planning to seek me out and shut me
up for good? Or his he conducting a plan in order to make me look like a liar
should I attack him verbally in public, is he thinking what I am thinking, the
ultimate, I wonder. He will be panicking. Through all this, I know him, I know
his every thought and move because I’ve studied it, like a stalker I suppose
but not for the same reasons. For safety. I must be one step ahead at all
times. Now I am at a loss because I feel I’ve fallen behind. I’m crumbling into
this hole consumed by my own darkness. Revenge, guilt and this madness, I think
that’s anger. Look Pam, look what he has done to me! I hate him, I physically
hate him to the pit of my stomach to the tips of my toes, the strands of my
hair and the beating of my heart, this man is the sickness I have inside me.
Poision. He is poison. My fingers are punching these digits harder as this
anger comes out!
Poison. Toxic poison.He has poisoned in every possible way
and now here I am, I don’t know think there is a cure. Its terminal. This will
kill me wont it? If not physically I amsure it will fuck me up mentally some
how in the end. I mean look at this letter its all over the place. I have cut
my belly to shreds and It burns and I want this keyboard to be his face…..that
face. Arrgh, that face that fucking face, pinned on my brain like a fucking
leach you knob head, you actual fucking knob of a man. You have ruined my life,
no, you are ruining my life. I have to stop you but I cant. I caused this in
the end didn’t I we know I did. I let you in I let you groom me and groomed I
became. I am yours. No, I am not. I am me, and I will get you one day, I will.
That’s my vow, if he is to haunt me by god I will drag his sorry arse of a
ghost through hell and back so he will wlk this lonely earth for all eternity
burning and alone. Preferably with no cock either.
You can feel my hate I am sure. So you will know this is no
lie. I have no reason to lie, for I could risk everything I hold dear by this.
Everything. I risk it anyway but I think at this point I have seen support
unlike I expected, especially my husband. My darling husband. He does not clean
but he does me right and I love him Pam, like nothing else. I am connected to
him in a way that now pen and paper can describe. All I know is all this is
because of him. This guilt, this pain, this protection. I could not bare him
hurting, or hurting anymore. I would do anything for him. Actually anything, I
would give my body up for him. I have already. I wished that this could have
stayed pure. It was so pure between us. So pure, untaineted, real like the
movies but also like the movies it has its consequences, our life ‘a romantic disaster movie’ makes
for good viewing I promise. I have complained about my husband many a time to you
but you know that this is superficial. He is the most gentlest, kind man I have
ever known, albeit a little lazy and unhygienic at times he is my man. Hairy
and soft, funny and stubborn. He’s mine all mine. I think that’s the problem.
He is mine, through all this and more he is mine heart body and soul he has
given me his word and I mine yet that’s it, that’s the problem. I once said to
my friend who was having problems with her fella as to whther she wanted to
continue any tyoe of relationship with him. I said to her as someone had once
told me its not a question of whether you can live with him, its whether you
can live without him. The answer then becomes obvious to the question. I cannot
live without my husband. I know I will lose him if I cannot hold it togther or
the threapiost gets to him in anyway. And if I lose him, I wont want to live
anymore, hence why when I feel I am losing control, I want to die. I cant live
without him, its simple. So instead of ever having to experience that feeling
of loss, I would rather die beforehand. In that way it seems that the truth the
whole truth and nothing but the truth no matter how painful will bury with me
and life will progress for him. He will find that perfect woman, who can give
him all he evr needed and more until he is grey and old. He deserves this,
doesn’t he. The best, and I am not the best. I deserve to be buried.
I can hear you Pam. I know what you are saying, like a
little voice in my head. ‘No, that’s not true, non of this is your fault’ and
my husband ‘I don’t want anyone but you please don’t do this to yourself, I
can’t live without you, what about me, I love you?’
It is my fault Pam. It is. And my darling I love you too but
you will not see this in the end, you will see pain and I cant see you in pain.
Please understand. If I die, I die for me. Its what I want.
Again there is this contradictory view on support Pam. I
hear you all including my family saying I must make descision of my own again
and not let dickhead take over everything. I understand this and if I could
make good decisions that’s what I would do but how is replying to this man a
good decision? Its not. Bad decision. I know this much. So ok, another
decision. Try handling my finances properly, ok? Ok, but I can’t concern trate
well, I make mistakes, its ends in trouble. Bad decision. So this support comes
and takes over. Each telling me that to speak to the police and pursue things,
a good decision one that can only be made by me and me alone. Fair enough. Then
make a choice whther to stay in or go out, do what I feel I can
handle.Everything must be what I feel I can handle. So I make this decision to
top myself and I know this is omething I really want, yet I am told this was a
bad decision. Again all control is to others. I want death, I want sweet
release. I told you, contradictory.
My husband has now run downstairs its 2am and he was worried
I had done something. His hand on my knee and weary eyed, I promise him I will
now try and sleep. So Pam, tonights letter is done. Lets see what tomorrow
brings, no doubt I’ll be venturing again some time soon so it wont be long till
we talk again.
Dear Pam 27.10.10
I have written for a while. I wonder why for a minute, it
because I haven’t been able to, literraly I haven’t been able to. Things went
from bad to really bad and then to a whole new level of bad that it felt like
the world had exploded in my head and I was splatted all over the universe!
Extreme I know but wow, my life is the worst. Granted there are people starving
or dying in the world right now who in reality have far worse a time than
myself but when you are living in a nightmare its pretty difficult to take all
that outside life into consideration. Quite selfish really this depression
thing.
Yes the last time I wrote things were not good and I told
you how I could not sleep that night. Scampi had not come as usual and I had
called him several times. You know what I have been like needing a cat to
snuggle up with in order to drift off soundly. Well after I worte you I called
many times after and he still did not return. Come morning lil man starts calling
him out the window and he still no where in sight. Me, worried came downstairs
out of my bed to call him, knowing he could not refuse my call. He couldn’t and
there I saw him strolling back from under the car by the agarage. Then I
realised he wasn’t strolling he was limping and covered in blood. I ran to him
as soon as I could screaming at the top of my voice. Sure enough he was
battered, hit by a car no doubt his back right leg mangled and bleeding,
scratches all over. He must have dragged himself back for me. To be home and
safe with his mummy, my baby boy came home despite the pain he must have felt.
I was hysterical as you can imagine I kept screaming ‘no not my Scampi, my
beautiful scampi’. For a brief time I stopped and wondered if I was dreaming
but I soon realised this was a nightmare and I wasn’t asleep.
At the vets he was sedated and xrayed for damage. Amazingly
it was only his leg which was the serious problem and that was fixable. We got
the good news having spent an hour crying uncontrollably at home. He was fixed
up and sent home two days later. I felt so happy, my bad luck may have been
changing? Not for long. Scampi couldn’t move and lived in a cage for 3 days at
home. He was still his loving self and very very grateful I could tell but
something in his eyes was wrong. He was no longer what my dad calls a ‘goer’it
was the same look that Whiskey gave me and thinking back probably also Jimmy.
The vets after a check up told me it was best to probably amputate the leg as
it looked as though it wasn’t healing as planned and slowly dying off uner the
bandages. I was fine with this just as long as he could come home and lay with
me and let me take care of him. I rang and found out the operation a success
and he was fine and dandy I could come and visit him in two hours. I was so
pleased. Next thing I get a phone call, it ws E. ‘He has had a turn for the
worse Im afraid, I’m quite worried about him, we trying to inject him to help
him, I’ll ring and let you know how it went asap’. Not expecting any good news
bt my fingers crossed, I sat waiting, waiting waiting, I didn’t move nor speak.
Luckily dad went to pick up lil man and j bear was asleep when that call came. ‘I’m
sorry Mrs White, he died’. Pam, it felt like a knife had hit me hard in the
chest and come out of my back. The anger I felt, the pain I felt, god I thought
I was going to rip the house apart. I have never ever reacted so angryily to
anything. I went MENTAL, absolutely stone cold MENTAL. I threw things, I broke
things, I screamed, I shook myself, hurt myself, shouted out, ran about crazy.
My dad returned and saw me, he knew. I ran upstairs to hide from lil man and I
just couldn’t contain the beast in me. I blocaded myself in my room and grabbed
for the phone…..IHT team asap. But no, no one was able to take my call, I rang
S. No one picked up. I left a message.
I picked up those pills and everyone I put to my lip. Selfish, but oh my
god it felt good. Each one went down without a thought. It was so fresh, so
wonderful to think I finally could go through with it, finally I had some power
over my life. I did not want this pain any longer, I was being punished on a
daily basis and it was obvious god or no god something or someone was pushing
me over the edge, testing my boundaries and this time the boundaries had been
overshot by a country mile. Those white pills held in my hand and the crisp
taste of fresh water as I swallowed several at a time. All the while straing
out the window and down the street to the world, I wanted to jump too but it
was not high enough and would only make me look silly. But the fresh air and
the delight I felt from this was awesome, I knew that’s what I had to do, stop
this fucking heartache once and for all, stop this heart. My cheeks were red
rore and my hands shaking I could feel the doubt pass in through my head. My
kids. My babies. I could not do this to them? Bad mother, better without me I
say but no, I want to see them grow old. My babies.Silly girl. Silly silly
girl, you are strong not weak, this is weak, but its good. I don’t want this
anymore. No. The phone rang as I contemplated the third sachet of pills, it was
S. Good old S tells me to ring J, trust in him, go to hospital. I
wonder whether to ring him and unlike me I do. And I tell him what I’ve done.
He takes me to hospital.
That evening in hospital, it was strange, I spoke my mind
for the first time in a long time, I swore, I was angry. I could not be fucked
what others thought. I actually did not give a fuck, it was amazing. I cans see
now why some people turn to drugs and alcohol because I was able to speak my
mind. MY mind not someone elses, MINE. I t was great. Weird hey. I felt great
about trying to top myself, changing my mind and then facing the world once
they knew. This was the difference, I meant it and that scared everyone. I sent
my goodbyes to the important people with the power of text and I said my peace
with the world. It was it, but it wasn’t. It was it for Scampi, third cat in a
row. Scamps. Scampi doodle doo. Gone and gone forever yet I keep on surviving.
My life is all about surviving.
I went home that night having the all clear from hospital to
a house full of my favourite people. My dad, my mother in law, my children
(asleep though they were) my best friend and her husband and my husband. No
Scampi though. They all gave me a smile and patted my back, called me silly and
hugged me saying they were there for me etc etc. If only they knew Pam, would
they be there for me then? NO.
I must go for now Pam, I have a very bad head (I’ll explain
later when I catch up to date) for now I will say goodnight and I’ll write
again asap….of course I never know whats round the corner and life might take
yet another drastic turn so as I have come to believe I should never count my
chickens. Till tomorrow adieu.
I’m so confused. Aren’t I always? Things haven just
spiralled and non of the techniques work. I wish you were here, our appointment
just round the corner. Some release, but these letters will do, for now.
I told you about Scampi right? I vowed we buried my Scampi
Doodle Doo. As I walked away from the shallow Grave, I swore that I would write
again. I swore to them all….you will be remembered, all four of you The
Fabtabbilous Four, my fantastic four, my own. I will, if I make it through I
will write that book and it will e loved and all four of them Jimmy, Whiskey,
Scampi, Ginger and I’ll have to add my oldest friend Jessie to the story too,
in fact she will be the lead. I’d love to that Pam, write again. No block, just
words. Something fun. All my cats were fun I want them to stay alive as long as
possible, past my death and my childrens.
Scampi’s buriel was the hardest. Funny being you would have
though by now I had got used to it. I hadn’t accepted his death, I went mad and
tried to kill myself and I didn’t succedd and then that day seem to be ignored.
Everyhting and everyone carried on as if I had never done and I suppose so did
I. Embarrassing as it was. And for that I ignored the fact that Scampi was
never coming home. Not alive anyway. He will never kneed my hair with a purr so
loud and yet so comforting. He will never check in after 10 mins out running up
to my face and kissing me all over. He will never be there when I cry and he
will never lay by side any more. So all this into consideration I chose not to
think about it, I even (by pure chance) spoke with the scampi’s original owner
and received a complimentary kitten in condolence, Scampi’s younger and
identical brother and yet when Scamps buriel came it was like BANG! I
remembered him and all his glory. He lay there, his wound to his lost leg.
Still and cold. My warm baby. His eyes had sunk in and yet he still looked
perfect. I stroked him and he was still soft. Scampi Soft. I kissed him and
held his paw. I didnlt want to let him be buried, I wanted to keep him. I hated
the idea of him wrapped in soil and forgotten, wrqapped without me. He always
went to sleep with me. I wanted to crawl up beside Pam, and stay with him. But,
he had to buried alone. Not quite alone, I gave him his favourite mouse toy and
I cut off my hair and left it by his face to cuddle up to. I walked away as
J filled in the hole and I asked that he not cover his face, not whilst I
was there. It was hard, harder than Jimmys but that doesn’t mean I loved her
less, to be honest I not sure why. SO that’s when I said…my book is the only
way to keep them alive. Oh and yes Pam you heard right, I now own Scampi’s
younger and almost identical brother. He’d not so Scampish or hyper but he cute, timid and not so in to me but he
here and that’s all I have of Scampi, for now. I cant name him though. Even
now, I cant name him.
So Pam, another cat down, another suicide down. lil man has
been ill with Chicken Pox and now J bear and J well you know battles on
every day unhappy but a MAN. No tears, no emotion, nothing, like the man of
steel crossed with Spock from Star Trek. Strong, powerful, invinceable and yet
not a shed of a tear, anger or anything remotely worth any attentionemotionally
at all. Humanless almost. Is that a word? He seems hard as a rock and cold as
ice. Sometimes Pam, no most times Pam I don’t even like this man. Do I love him
anymore I find myself asking every day but yet I am compelled by his love
aren’t i. I loved himonce. Before I became ill. Before ‘what happened’ became
common knowledge and discussed frequently by otheres. I loved him. I did all
this for him and now I question whether I love him. It menas all is for nothing
if this were true. SO silly, so pointless. I think I may just cut myself and
walk away, I cant handle him anymore. His pain and grief, he wont let me in yet
I am expected to tell all to him. The realationship is doomed isn’t it. It
always was since I left to go to work. Doomed. Like all things I touch.
I talk like this Pam and yet I know I am kidding myself by
thinking life without J would be fine but yet I feel compelled to write this
all the same. Some days I nthink I love TR but why would that be so.
Is it because I cant get him\ out of my head? I think about him more than my
husband and I think him about him all the time. I obsess and I dream and I
think of what I would do if I saw him again. And I want too. I NEED to. I need
to see him. I went to his village, about a week ago. I had to be near find out
that street seek out that house. I had forgotten what iot looked like having
only seen it in the dark. I went, Oh and I was scared my heart pounded as I
drove down those lanes. I sped there, I kept thinking that I might just turn
the corner and crash into his car, topple it or something, may be even kill
him, not his child though or his wife, no, they would not be in the car. I
found the house. Something House it was called, I drove past too quick in case
he was to see my car or me. His car parked outside, I knew the white house was
his, I remembered. I drove up the street to the church. I had this spare of the
moment craze to walk into the church and leave a note in the guest book “S****
H*****’ who lives in your village is a RAPIST. A serial RAPIST. An addict, a
cheat, a fake. All who love him be warned, he rbings much pain and has ruined
my life, please let this help you save yours’ Of course the note would be
anonymous but obvious. A small village and communityu like that would see it
and it would build doubt. He would never suspect me though would he. Quaint old B, reliable, smart B. His best fuck. His best. The woman unlike the rest
failed to fall for him yet manged to keep him away from her life. The one who
accepted his behaviour and befriended him in a plite to save her marriage and
her lifestyle. Befriended him and kept queit. Never asked him to leave his
wife, or boasted about a fling. The one who never let him get too near or too
close. The one who always got away emothionally. The one who gave his
satifaction like no other, a chase and a struggle. The one who thrilled him
because she wasn’t available. The one who pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
The one who invited him to her wedding and pictured with him. The one who let
him stand in front of her husband knowing full well what he did and what he was
thinking and let him shake his hand whilst looking at me and winking. I WAS
WEAK. I did not stand up him and with this note I could just maybe catch a
glimpse of what it could be like to turn the table. But it wasn;t to be Pam.
The church was locked. I had ran there to this little church with beautiful
views hoping for this relief and yet nothing became of it. A man saw me as I
ran back, he was walking his dogs. Being of a similar age to TR I
knew he would know him so my animity was already lost if this man could recall
my appearance. DAMN. Yet I wanted to stay here. Stay in the village and watch,
one car was missing. I wanted to watch that house, but my children were waiting
and my husband too. My headache was also returning and I felt sick. I went home
Pam but for some reason the xperience made me feel better.
So to the headache. I have been ill for two weeks now with
what both the hospital and the surgery call a severe migraine. Some days I cant
even walk about. I staye din hospital. I had a number of tests, a panic about
the staff possibly being related to TR and also incase he was
visiting someone. Well with my luck, yopu never know! He didn’t and I was safe,
so were my tests, all normal yet I copuldn;t stand the light, move my back or
even barely walk. God, what a migraine!
I do have a story to tell though Pam, interesting as it may
seem about the afterlife. Ghosts. I experienced something whilst in the
hospital which made me feel weird and I really did think lots about it. I’ll
telll yu ina minute about that, I just wanted to add that despite being ill I
have felt better mentally well since I heard that H uncle David killed
himself. He jumped of a boat in the artic. It was crazy and on the news. It
made me think that he really must have been desperate. 79 years of age and off
he jumped having fought cancer and other illnesses the one illness he just
could not beat was depression and it finally killed him. Is this what my life
was to be? A boat journey? Would I rie this boat to the port, or jump before it
lands? Knowing my luck it will hit an iceberg and sink just when I found my
life again. Is life one big Titanic? A magnificent ship, a ship of dreams. For
some a ride of warmth and luxury, for others just another trip and for some a
small cabin with no view and a rat or too but still a ride home all the same.
In the end rich or poor, happy or sad, ship or life we all lay below sea level
in the end, it just depens whether we choose to jump, sink or swim. I not sure
what category I fall into yet but I’ll keep you posted. My condelonces to
Pauline, her David jumped.
ENoguh of the philospophy, its way to too late for too much
of that Pam! I was going to tell you about this ‘experience in hospital’ it was
another one of these moments that really make you think.
As for TR, I did it. I replied. Why I not sure
why. Maybe I’ll find out soon. I have an appointment on Tuesday with a Rape
Crisis counsellor. Your replacement I suppose. Gail she is called. She sounded
nice on the phone but I have to travel 25 miles at night past the dreaded town.
On my own? Well I wont be but some other lady might be. Hardly the best set up
for someone who has been abused. I have to meet her in the dark outside the a
community building, alone. She will then show me her workplace and the future
place of the meetings. Hang on, does this sound like a set up? Oh my god, maybe
it is, maybe he =has got someone to lure me there and ….no, I being silly.Am I?
Its hardly ideal. J will come with me and then drop me with this lady. Where
will he go 25 miles in a n unsual town? I beginning to regret taking up this
offer. No, I must. I must go. I need to understand my behaviour. I know this is
what you wised. I know that it does not deal with everything from my past and lil mans dad etc but for this moment in my life it is him I need to sort. Finally
give in to the beast and talk this shit out of my head. I wonder. She will not
be like you, nor can she better than you. I know you will saw this is whats
best but you must see Pam that since you have been gone from my life I have no
one else that understands and I have been ill. Ill like never before, you made me well, Pam
and I need you back. Please come back. Please.
The question tonight is am I fat? Thw question every woman
asks regardless of the answer. The question put to others or more commonly put
to themselves. So for about the millionth time I ask myself am I fat? I feel
fat therefore I am fat, it doesn’t actually really matter whether you look it
or not, its what you feel. And I FEEL fat, Pam. Fair enough some may say I have
had a baby recently and I have an excuse but really its not an excuse for me.
If someone where to ask me what is that women want? I would say every woman
wants to FEEL thin, looking thin is a bonus but to FEEL happy in their own skin
for possibly their entire life would be what woman want and unfortunately no
MAN can do that regardless. Anyway, it was just a thought as I laid in bed
feeling my belly flop to one side onto the bed. Horrible Pam, it feels
horrible. I hae this person I have become. So obsessed with how I look and
feel. Its weird because I know its because I am not making an effort. When I
make an effort I know I look ok so I am not so paranoid about how I look and
feel but when I don’t its like, the whole world will notice B as she is.
Greasy, dirty, hairy and fat. Sod it it how I feel. I wish I meant that.
So Pam, is this called make-up? Putting on a face has more bearing
to me now than ever before. Its funny that I was thin, pretty and well groomed
when I kept all this crap in and now its all in the open, I don’t make any
effort to make myself look ‘good’ because I don’t feel good. In fact I never
felt ‘good’ when I did make myself up but I certainly felt strong enough to
hide behind it. Denial I suppose, act as if I always did then no one would
notice the truth. Now of coarse all my private thoughts and business are being
analysed by everyone and if I so put on a bit of make up, a nice outfit, do my
hair someone says ‘you look nice’ or ‘you look brighter’ and imedistely I go
into auto drive and all I can think is should I be looking shit? Because shit
things have happened to me and does this mean because I look ok means I lied or
that I am over it all now? Do get what I mean? It puts this immense pressure on
me to ‘look as I feel’. People want me to get better therefore the glimmer of
hope turns into ‘she is much better don’t you think’ and I feel I have to keep
it up and all bottled up again and the pattern starts again. That’s where I am
Pam. I have closed up again, everyone thinks I am better but truth is its bad
because bit by bit I closing off and getting angrier and angrier with everyone
cause I have no outlet. Apart from these letters of course! I wish you were sat
here telling me why I feel like this and that this is * the usual pattern for
someone in my position. *I nearly quoted ‘normal’ here and that would not be
the case as I wrote in an earlier letter.
I am angry all the time. I seem to be pushing my closest
away. I cant stand to be round my husband at the moment although I love him
dearly ( I think, of course, its just confusion). He comes to hug me and kiss
me and after a few seconds I moving onto some job or task. I cant do it. He
notices too. Why do I do that? We meant to be going away for the weekend next
weekend and I should be looking forward to it but instead I seem to be dreading
it. Four days alone with my husband would normally be bliss but why am I so
fearful of that now? Maybe it’s the expectation. I would like to spend it
sleeping and relaxing but J he will expect some activity both out and about
and indoors too if you know what I mean. Why is sex so scary now? WHAT THE
FUCK?! Did I just ask that?! That’s crazy, I mean of course I know why but what
I mean is while that bastard raped me serially I ws able to continue sex
comfortably with my husband but now when fuck face is not in my life (much) I
cant do it? I really don’t get the logic in that at all. I think to much don’t
I Pam. Bloody hell B, give myself a break. So as I was saying a trip away.
Its meant to be a treat/Christmas present to us to get us back on track as a
couple and as a basis to come back refreshed ready to deal with the other
pressures going on. It wont help, I know it wont but I will put my smile and
thanks on and continue with the plan because that’s what you do. For them its
all solvable somehow. Get B back to ‘normal’ (that word again) and all will
be fine, the rest will follow. Well the news is I will never be ‘normal’ again.
No weekend away can erase whats happened, to both of us. That first memorable
day when TR took me into the mens toilets and pushed me against the cubicle
wall lifted my skirt and within a few seconds it was there, in me. My eyes shut
and the burning pain of guilt and regret. In about 3 mins, my life changed and
in that three mins my husband was all I could see, his face if he saw, his
pain, his anger, his disappointment. Our wedding gone, lil' man dad gone, his pain. Three minutes of the future a ‘flashforward’. That’s all I could see and
all I could think was ‘everythings ruined’ and I was right Pam because here I
am. I fought and fought to stop that image happening, every minute of every day,
even now, I’m fighting but now I am exhausted and I’ll give in, I musnt I know
but I feel it as I get weaker. I almost in tears as I remember those moments
Pam but the words bring me back. I will never ever forget that day, that time.
The others seem insignificant to this, the first. Much like how people claim
‘you always remember the first person you have sex with’ and then mothers may
add ‘make sure its someone special’. Huh, well it works the same with sexual
abuse. I remember the first in detail, that’s the one that gives me flashbacks
(and flashforwards) the one that makes me cry the most. Its because that it all
changed then. After that it had already been spoiled so it didn’t matter so
much, it was like a surrendered my body and gave up so much easier. Don’t get
me worng I avoided him like the plague and found excuses not be in a certain
place at a certain time nor be available when he thought he had a window of
opportunity. Anything to keep him at bay but it didn’t always work and no
amount of smiles and ‘no’s would ever make him stop, and if I struggled, well
that was more of a ‘turn on’ for him so he said. He liked to be dominant over
me and I can tell you it was a lot less messier if I quietly complied. I could
not take the pain of him when he was angry and I struggled. He would just get
stronger and more deep. He would hold me tighter and bite me. The whole process
took a lot longer. I learnt quickly that it was not worth it and having tried
my best in the run up to him dragging me somewhere, I could all but go limp and
it ended in minutes without much harm to myself, almost like one minute he’s
there the next he’s gone packing his lunchbox and rejoining our collegues as if
nothing ever happened. And this was what I learnt to do too. As if nothing took
place. Disgusting and weak I was, WEAK fucking WEAK as shit. I think it feels
like I cheated because I gave in so easy but others will say I protected
myself. Its that though that twists with your brain. Makes you feel you like
you are in some way to blame and if you are to blame then that counts as
cheating – hense guilt.
I’m tired Pam and J Bear stiring. I forgot what I was
writing about in the first place anyway….all points lead straight back to him
don’t they. I do apoligise what boring letters you must read from me. Night
Pam, take care.
‘
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