Two Years Later…

With a knife close to my neck he said, “I own you. Dare to scream. Just dare”. There I was, standing between the wall and his body. I was hardly breathing, dazed and confused. “I bet you are all wet now, I bet you’re loving this”, he whispered still holding that damn knife closer and closer to my neck.

African-American-Woman-Crying-Tears-sylvia-browderThe door was open and I could hear people in the other room. I could hear movement and a part of me kept wishing that someone would decide to get up for a cuppa, for a fag, for a break of some kind. But no one got up, no one had a break and there I was… alone with that monster who was an expert in emotional abuse. As for the other part of me? Well, it was too embarrassed to want anyone see someone who came across as such a strong and dominant woman being a victim of such abuse. I was ashamed.

Two years have gone by and I still cannot forget this. Two whole years have gone by and this memory is vivid as if it had happened yesterday. I can still remember and write about his red and white shirt, his jeans and black shoes. I can still talk about his cologne which although the name fails me, I can smell it from a distance and I do shiver whenever someone walks past me smelling like that.

For the past few days I found myself drinking and struggling to cope. But I have no one to talk to about this because no one knows this was happening. I struggle to trust anyone enough to tell them and I am exploding inside every day. I’m losing myself and I am terrified. I am losing it. This time of the year is just too hard.

Things I Never Wrote About…

I never wrote about my summer holidays. I never wrote about my experiences visiting good old Holland and seeing friends that I hadn’t seen in almost a decade. I never wrote about going back to my original country and seeing even more friends. I never wrote about how much fun I had behaving like a tourist in the city I was born and pretend I could not speak the language when I am native and definitely still fluent despite my English skills surpassing my native idiom. I never spoke about the sunshine, the deep blue sea, the colourful flowers, the canals, the river, the smells, the food and most importantly, the people.

I never wrote about my professional life. I never wrote about how fed up I am with my job and how eager I feel to move onto something new whilst pretending that I am thrilled to be working where I do. I never wrote about feeling as though as I have reached my optimum at work and my manager, despite all attempts, cannot provide me any insights or support because he is not qualified or experienced to manage me. I never wrote about smiling every single time I am asked if I am pleased at work whilst keeping my LinkedIn profile updated and now in the process of also updating my CV (or résumé as some may call it). I never wrote about the job that I accidentally found that I will be applying for even though it’s a temporary booking with unknown contract duration at the moment – I have contacted the HR team for further information.

I never wrote about my academic life. I never wrote about how overwhelmed I currently feel about writing my assignment when I am dealing with so much internal drama. I know I have to write it and the clock is ticking, but I cannot focus. Every sentence written feels like a razor cutting through my bare skin. Overdramatic? Perhaps, but the assignment is based on my workplace, yes, the one I mentioned above that I am particularly unhappy about. How to write something professional and unbiased when you simply do not like it? It’s hard to keep personal thoughts aside when writing in business style but what needs to be done, needs to be done. I never wrote about my exam and being awarded distinction, possibly my biggest achievement of the year especially because I thought I had failed. My mother says I am always too hard on myself, I wonder who’s fault is that.

I never wrote about forcing myself to date. I never wrote about dating apps that resulted in meeting rather awkward people that made me feel even more antisocial than before. Who can blame me? Some people are so weird they make me feel normal. I never wrote about the one guy who spoke about politics and history in the entirety of our first (and only) date, who kept trying to rub my shoulder despite all visual cues to stay the hell away – I hate being touched by strangers. I never wrote about the one who tried to get me drunk because he could not find a way to kiss me whilst sober – I hate being touched by bloody strangers. Or the one who kept talking about his ex-girlfriend and how I am so intelligent for someone my age, or how focused I am for someone my age. The irony behind it all? He did not understand why I was not interested on going out for a second date and finished my stating that if I wanted sex, I could have simply asked for it but I did not look like one of ‘those’ girls. They wonder why they are still single… I wonder why bother with online dating.

I never wrote about my short summer romance. I never wrote about meeting someone who made me smile, made me engage in a conversation and genuinely enjoy their presence which lately seems to be quite rare. I never wrote about how he helped me temporarily forget my ghost and simply enjoy life, feel lighter and happy. He was fun, interesting and smart. Shockingly my age – I’m used to only be interested in men at least 3 years older than me. A sweet surprise, to be held in the middle of a busy street to dance, with his left hand on my lower back and his right holding my hand. I never wrote about going for random walks and order different dishes at restaurants with the aim to share and try different things together. It was fun, but it ended because everything fun ends so much faster… And so he had to leave, he had to go and although we keep in touch, he’s far and he never fully took my memories of that other ghost away. That one doesn’t seem to ever go.

I never wrote about my ghost. The one that seems to drive all my thoughts, all my daydreams, all my hopes and dreams. I never wrote about how I felt so close to the end of our chapter and he said all the things he knew I would want to hear, starting a whole new chapter again. I never wrote about my ghost, as if he was ever truly mine. The one that always hurts me and I always feel stupid enough to get back running whenever he asks me to. Yes, the one that I want but cannot have. The one I am trying my hardest to stay away from but haven’t succeeded just yet. I don’t enjoy writing about him that much anymore because it aches from inside out, I guess only my emails to Riccardo feel okay these days, but even then I struggle to stay away from that darkness that I always feel he understands.

I never wrote about my family. I never wrote about that one family member who was horrible to me and seems to be proof that karma exists. That one family member who eventually was diagnosed with a strong personality disorder which put her in the edge of wanting to commit suicide. I never wrote about how that friend who actually did commit suicide brought back many nightmares that I did not think would ever come back. I guess certain things cannot be put to rest. I never wrote about my darkest thoughts that seem to have been augmented after her suicide. The whys that will never be answered alongside all other questions that her family probably have burning them inside out. The frustration, the anger, the lack of understanding, the sadness…

I never wrote about my emotional well-being. I never wrote about how I am queen of appearances, after all, I’ve only been sugarcoating my entire life. I never wrote about constantly moving from apathetic to feeling blue but I keep the smiles and the laughter and no one can see through it. They see the smile and the constant support, love and care that I have to give but no one sees my concerns, my fears, my inability to feel human. I cannot blame them, I’m good at pretending and they can only see what I allow them to and it’s not much. I never wrote about how I accessed my external hard drive to look for some e-books and how I ended up finding an old diary. That old diary, the only I believe to have ever kept in my life, has a lot of anxiety. I skim-read a few pages and could feel the negativity and the anxiety. Four years ago my doctor tried to get me to accept therapy for what she thought was panic attacks and stress. Four years later, I have never seen a counsellor, a therapist, or discussed this with any GPs. I don’t want help, not yet anyway. I can handle it. I felt a lot worse in the past, nothing is stopping me from moving forward.

I never wrote about that time where I was close to deleting this blog. Sugar was going to disappear like all of the other hundreds of blogs I have had in my life. I never wrote about how I was close to giving up on this again simply because I could not write. But look at it now, 1386 words and still counting but these are merely the things I never wrote about. The things that needed to come out, the things that need to be out there even though I will be surprised if anyone will actually read this mini-essay. Needless to say it won’t be edited/proofread.

Bless you all, take care.

Day 17 – Phobia

Writing 101, Day Seventeen: Your Personality on the Page

What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears. If you’re up for a twist, write this post in a style that’s different from your own.

The Daily Post

***

My heart skips a beat
And I make no sound
I’m sure I can’t keep
This spider around

***

This is why I do not write in this style, I am terrible.  Only as a twist/challenge would I ever dare to write like this.

Previous Writing 101 entries:
Day 1 – 20 minutes writing challenge
Day 2 – The First Out of Many Mistakes
Day 3 – Three Most Important Songs
Day 4 – In Loving Memory
Day 5 – You Are Not Alone
Day 6 – Deep Blue Eyes
Day 7 – Betrayal
Day 8 – The Coffee Shop
Day 9 – Different Points of View
Day 10 – Childhood Memories
Day 11 – Childhood Memories II
Day 12 – Running Out Of Time
Day 13 – Awakened
Day 14 – A Plea For Change
Day 15 – Uninspired
Day 16 – Willfully Lost