I’m taking a pause on the life story kick I’ve been on, just for a little bit. It’s too depressing to recount it all together. Hiatus time.
I’m too tired to proofread, so sorry for the errors.
Anyway, I got married five days ago. I’m in Orlando with my husband, and he’s asleep. I would love to say I’m happy. I would love to say everything is fine, now that I’ve met someone I enjoy being with.
But that pesky depression that has me wrapped around its finger. He’s inside, knocked the fuck out, and I’m out here in the dark, half a step away from a panic attack and on the cusp of the exact opposite of greatness.
Maybe it’s about time to tell him about the assault, about how it’s extremely difficult to sleep with anyone too close to me, because I feel trapped. I should tell him how hard it is to breathe when someone’s arm is around me, because I feel like I’m about to be dragged off somewhere. I should tell him what happened. It’s the right thing to do.
And I plan to. Every day I wake up planning to say something, but then I think about the aftermath. He would be afraid to come anywhere near me, because he doesn’t want to hurt me, and that’s just not fair. It’s not fair of me to make someone nervous about touching his wife. I should have told him before.
I should have told him before.
I had a panic attack in the middle of the night a few days ago, and he was so great with it. I know he’d be great about this, and that’s part of the problem. I almost wish he would be awful about it. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t freak out and panic. Maybe.
Sometimes I still can’t believe it happened. It hasn’t even been a year since Chicago, but it’s still almost dreamlike in a way. Like it was happening to me and I was watching it happen to me from the outside at the same time, if that makes sense.
I only told one person about it, and she just doesn’t count. We’re basically the same person. It also just doesn’t really affect mine and hers’ relationship. It’s different with him. It will change everything.
I need time to myself, but he’s always around. He’s always there. I don’t have a minute to be sad by myself and disengage from my life for a little while. I’m so used to being alone. I don’t know how to be with someone else. It’s turning out that I’m even worse at being in a relationship than I thought I was. What the fuck am I doing?
What the fuck am I doing?