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“I just want to thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart…for all the sleepless nights, and for tearing me apart.”

November 13, 2010

I just finished catching up on the past two weeks of Private Practice and I’m sitting here crying.

My heart is breaking for Charlotte. Watching her go through the rape, and dealing with its aftermath; it’s just breaking me apart. And yet what else do I feel? Envy. This is a theme that’s come up for me a lot recently, but I am envious of her. Not for being raped. But for being able to go to the hospital after. To be examined. To be counseled. To have everyone in her life know about it, and know that she is dealing with PTSD. To be able to fly into a rage, dissociate, or break into hysterical sobs, and have people there for her.

I never had any of that. Not any of the three times that bad things happened to me.

And part of that is my own fault, because I didn’t tell anyone. I was scared and afraid and with one of the people, one of the recurring incidents, I pushed it to the back of my brain and locked it away for years. With the second person, also a recurring incident, I *knew* it was my own fault and I *knew* it wasn’t a big deal. And with the third? I had been drinking. So I determined that it was my fault and didn’t speak of it for months.

I never got the chance to be comforted right after these things happened. Never could break down crying wherever I was. Yes, years later I had people I could text or call. But I have always had to hide my feelings, because so many people don’t know about anything that happened. And because of that, I don’t feel that it’s okay for me to burden those few people who DO know.

I’ve had this urge to talk about the things that happened, for months now. But I just can’t. I don’t want to talk to a therapist about it; I’ve done the grief work, my diagnosis of PTSD has been lifted for years, I’ve worked through it. What I need is a friend. Just like people call their friends up when they’re having a hard time with anything else…I just want to talk about it. And tell someone that it’s been on my mind. And be able to say what I need to say, whatever that is.

It is sickening that I would ever be envious of someone else’s circumstances like this. And yes, I’m judging myself for it, and yes, I know OCD is playing a role in that. And I know that OCD played a role in convincing me not to tell anyone about what happened.

I’m just sad. It could have been different, it should have been different. And I can never change that. And because of that, I don’t know how to get my needs met now.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Kay permalink
    December 28, 2011 9:34 pm

    I’ll listen ❤

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