Life is a work in progress. My life is a work in progress. It really is, and it’s only taken me these past almost 30 years to figure that out. Though to be honest, I haven’t worried about it as a child, just more of when the “Incident/Event” happened. I never worried about how I was feeling before, or what I was doing, or how I would make things better. I had a happy-ish, carefree attitude and personality. It’s just how I was, and how I would like to be again.
When I was raped, I lost all sense of who I was. I didn’t know up from down. I was in this world I had created that I felt was a bubble to protect me. Being raped took away who I was. I no longer trusted anyone. I felt worthless, alone, unwanted, unloved, unneeded, trash. So why not protect myself and put myself away from everyone else so that I wouldn’t feel this. Protect myself from the world and the horrors it has thrown at me. So why not cut myself off from everything and turn into myself and resort to the world of depression, self mutilation, and suicide that I did. After all, it was not as if anyone cared, how could they I thought anyways. I viewed myself as worthless and unwanted, unable to be loved, unable for anyone to care about me after what had happened. I even had someone tell me it was my fault, that I was asking for it to happen. So why not? I was no longer anyone, I was nothing, and treated myself that way.
Something happened though. I started to see a way out. It started after my first round of therapy and medications. I started to feel a bit better. I fell in love, was engaged to be married, and then it all fell away from me. He was a liar, mentally and verbally abusive. He put on a front that took me 4 years to see through. I thought it was ok to love, and give my heart away again. It wasn’t. Far from it. So while I didn’t fall into the hole that I was in before, I fell a bit, and it was a slow decline into depression, but I got there eventually again. (Let me clarify, I do have depression to start with, the kind where there is a chemical imbalance in my make up, so there is always a need for medication.) This was seemed to be there for the long run. It was not going to leave, and was still there when I met the JERK.
The JERK was a pretender as well ( I seem to have a great talent for attracting these types). He started off as the opposite of the ex, and then it happened. He took on the same persona as him. I never should have opened up and shared my past and trusted him to accept. After that it was all down hill. I’ve gone into details before andveould rather not dwell on it again, but I’ll just say he said I deserved the rape. After that things escalated and I still am lugging that baggage of him around.
It was after this that I’ve really started to look at me. Who I use to be, how I acted, how I thought, even how I looked, and decided that’s where I want to be again. I don’t know if I will ever be there again, but guess what? I’m working on it, and according to a friend, I’m getting there. I’m seeking help to put the past wherein it belongs, treating the PTSD, changing environments. My friend told me that he can see it’s helping. How? He told me I’m more of my silly self I use to be. It is a start.
I will always be working on trying to overcome my past, but that past will help me become stronger. It has shown me the depths of vile and cruelty that the world has to offer, and whilst I have not usually, if rarely, ever chosen the easy ways, I’ve survived. I am still here. I’m working on reaching goals, of becoming who I was. Who knows, maybe I will reach it, but until then, I am my own work in progress and for now, I’m content with that.