pieces of me sad girl drawing

It’s taking me a long time to recover from the assault I experienced and wrote about last week which I suppose it to be expected. Although I realize how lucky I am to be still here, I haven’t got over the shock and the awful trauma of it all yet and sometimes I just dissolve into pieces and floods of tears.

I have spent the last week being interviewed by the police in the aftermath of what happened to me.  The Victim Support organization have been in touch too and have offered me one to one emotional support for as long as I need it which I appreciate and need so much right now. My GP and the hospital have been so understanding and are helping me recover, physically from the attack.

However, I’m living in fear each day of every knock on the door, every car that pulls up near my house, every unexpected noise or movement even though I know that this ‘man’ is in police custody and can’t reach me. That doesn’t stop me having nightmares. Nor does it stop the overwhelming flashbacks that are almost as real as the event itself.

I’ve told very few people other than the professionals who are dealing with and supporting me. At some point, I have to tell my family as they have guessed something isn’t right even though the nearest of them lives over 60 km away from me. They suspect something is wrong despite how hard I’ve tried to disguise a cracking voice and although they cannot see my tear-stained face. I didn’t want to tell them…

Echoes from decades ago of the instructions from my father, ‘not to say a word’, ring in my ears. “Don’t tell,” “mustn’t tell,” whisper through the trees even on a night like tonight when a storm is raging outside, the river has swollen, and the crab apple tree in the back garden has come down. The outside world so accurately depicts what’s going on inside my head. My heart thump, thump, thumps on the inside of my chest, threatening to break through the delicate tissue of my breast.

The utter shame I felt as a child has returned although I know, logically, now although not then, that the shame belongs one-hundred percent with the offender and the perpetrator.

Nevertheless, I am still in pieces and will take some time to mend.