3 years a Survivor

I had tried everything. Smoking. Drinking. Smoking and drinking. My “in case of emergency” pill. Another. I cried. I screamed into a pillow. I writhed and wiggled about thrashing feverishly because nothing I did seem to ebb it one bit. I made a batch of cinnamon rolls. Ate two. Mentally punished myself for it. Cried kneeled at the foot of my toilet knowing full well my body is so starved for nutrition, that it wasn’t coming out. 

I had been feeling so good, hadn’t I? Just a day ago. Maybe longer. Today it feels like it just happened. I’m shifting uncomfortably as my mind wanders to the safety of the shower. The place I spent hours trying to just become clean again. I wanted to take shower after shower. My mind is slowing slipping into panic.

Yesterday I cut all my nails off. When I woke up bleeding and scarred I knew I had to. Why does my body remember what I wish it could let go? I had honestly been feeling so good that when I began to notice how sneakily my symptoms had been mounting, I felt sad. That maybe my wellness was all a lie. That maybe I am still just as fragile as I was that night. Raw. Sensitive. Scarred.  

Its a pain I can only scream into an empty void. That’s how it feels. I don’t even get the satisfaction of the vibrato. Understanding the reach and range of my own voice was lost on me.  He tried to steal the best of me, looting and destroying private property. He tried, but I am unconquerable. 

I awoke this morning knowing today was 2/23. Knowing today three years ago I woke up confused, scared, and alone. The past two years I’ve been so afraid to be alone on that night. But I survived it. Not only did I survive it, but I woke up feeling good again. As if the storm had passed and clear days were on the horizon.  

I survived. Not just the incident. But I have survived every day that followed. I survived two anniversaries of that awful day and now a third, in progress. I’m stronger than I was then; spiritually I am grounded. You want to know what my inner voice has been telling me all week as the anxiety mounted knowing this day was coming? LET IT COME. Don’t run from it, face it head on. And I promise you, you will outlast the strength of the memory of that pain.

Every time I do something I think is brave, I feel like I’m honoring that part of me who had to simply endure. I think of the place I had to go to in my mind to remain in tact. I think of how I kept myself as safe as I possibly could and how that same energetic acumen is serving my purpose now. I think how much the memories have tried to break me down. Attacking my mental physical spiritual body relentlessly with the outrage caused only by such a disgusting violation. And I quiet that pain. I quiet it by reassuring her, nothing was stolen from you. You exist far beyond the walls of your sacred spaces. Your body, while yours, is not You. This moment is an opportunity to tell yourself a new story. Rise to the occasion.  

and every day, I try to.