Two in a day? Who am I? How long will this last?!

Anyway. For the last year and a half or so, I’ve been mentally preparing to move. Renting a basement apartment I’ve known full well that I may need to move soon and have been agonizing that process. So I’ve been looking.

And looking.

And looking.

Not to much avail. After taking a break, my brother mentioned he also was looking to move and in my head I genuinely thought that if I couldn’t live where I live now, or by myself, then I’d want to live with my brother. We’re different, but cut from the same cloth. And we are finally friends instead of bickering children.

For the last few months I’ve been looking. My brother has been working his credit stuff out. I’ve been hunting for places and deals. Last week i finally found one, though, i wasn’t convinced. Then, as I’m leaving to go look at the place with my brother, the family let’s me know they probably aren’t moving for another year.

I am hit with a ton of bricks as well as joy as I try to work this out. Because living here has been so incredibly stable. How do I tell my brother how broken I am? How broken this man made me? And how I’m holding on simply by a thread and my living arrangement is the only thing that keeps me in place right now. Otherwise I don’t know what I’d do.

I can’t tell him I was raped… sodomized. Fucking ripped. I can’t tell him how my body was destroyed underneath the weight of a man who met my tears and my begs with gentle “shhhh”s and “stay still”s. That finally something inside of me broke. After years of fucked up shit happening I feel actually decimated.

I am broken. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get myself back together.

The guilt consumes me, and I wonder if I’d not spoken to this man, trusted him, allowed him in, would he not have done what he did to me. That maybe I’ve just failed my brother and myself, and that being raped, I’ve placed myself in a position where I can’t be there for my brother because I can’t even be there for myself.

The thought sickens me. I feel ill. And I feel angry with myself. I’ve let my brother down. My family down; myself down. Why did I freeze and beg him as if he was going to fucking stop? Why did this happen to me? What is wrong with me? What did I do? I wonder if i could have anticipated what happened better. Where did I go wrong?

The rabbit trail of guilt and self hate is endless. I’d never want to let anyone else know how crushed I actually feel to the core.

That thread is wearing and I’m holding on tight for everyone I’ve let down.

But I have to stay here. Where I live. Because even though I can’t say it aloud, I just don’t know how much more I can take.



To preface this, I don’t run.

It’s gross. Hot and sweaty. Well that’s how I feel about it.

But mentally I run. All day and all night. Looking for some kind of noise to fill my ears. During my drives music, at work, endless chatter, in the evenings audiobooks and podcasts. At night white noise.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to always challenge others to learn to live the quiet. To learn to sit with themselves, to not shy away from it. But here I am. Running. And the way I run… I don’t like it. It’s dark. But it’s all I know. And even though it scares me it still feels safe.

And I’m afraid. Afraid of memories. Afraid that everything negative that I think and feel about myself will bubble over, and that I won’t be able to breathe anymore. I used to not mind it. But now, I feel the nagging. The pull in my heart when I let things get to quiet. The pain I feel that I’m constantly avoiding because it feels like to much.

I don’t feel ready. Ready to step into what’s slowly killing me. I guess that sounds dramatic but my thoughts have been veering down that windy road.

My friend who knows what happened will ask me how I’m doing. I don’t think much of it. But when she asks, and when I have a moment alone, of quiet, I feel it all. I cry in and instant and I realize how broken I am.

But I never sit with it. Never let it sink in or last, because it hurts too much. But it stays anyway, sitting like a boulder on my chest. Waiting for me to find the courage to push it away.

Or die.