I don’t know how much of this is tied in with the trial. I am not dealing well with waiting permanently with no information. I’m really scared. I’m not sure what I’m scared of. I think I will be a creditable enough witness given the other victims. It doesn’t rest on my word to call this man a predator. I was not the first. I was not even the first to press charges.

I feel weird that the Scottish government is squarely acting like I am a vulnerable person. I have official designation and shit. It means I get accommodations.

In my life being vulnerable has always meant putting a target on my forehead so that people can line up to take shots. It’s not a fun prospect. Looking weak means people want to get in a shot to hit you next. Everyone wants the next turn, it looks so fun. I am so conscious of the fact that I am in a place where savage hierarchy is the norm. It’s part of why I am not going out much and I fucking dress up when I do. I need to look like you would be sorry if you fucked with me.

Not that it worked. Fuck.

I can’t do enough to keep me safe short of never being around people. Not that it works forever for me because Noah is inside the house and he will do something again. It is hard that a lot of our relationship is literally based around the idea that he terrorizes me and then vaguely gaslights me and implies it isn’t happening. I’m just making up a list of things to react to. It’s not like we have idle conversations about how he is going to attack me again some day when I am deeply depressed and not functional and hurt me really badly. Feeling depressed definitely doesn’t feel an inherent threat in and of itself or anything.

k

It is my fault he is traumatised. I went off the rails again; I set him off. What else did I expect? I get what I deserve. I will deserve it next time and the time after that too. I will never stop deserving it. There will be justification for why hurting me is perfectly fine because he feels insecure and mean and he takes care of me. Didn’t he help me get home from the hospital after the surgery? Jeez, don’t act like hurting me is a big deal.

Sorry about that. It wasn’t important. It was nothing. It doesn’t count. Like when Derek slapped me when I was 15 and said, “That doesn’t even count as a hit. There isn’t a mark.” I am wrong to remember and act like it counts.

My mom also says she didn’t hit me.

She means she never beat me to the point of serious injury but saying that would sound bad so that’s not what she says. I’m supposed to just get the point and agree that naw, I wasn’t hit because that way no one needs to show me the difference.

I keep having this awful thing happen when I am crying, I keep hearing different voices hiss, “Do you want me to give you a reason to cry?” It’s this constant reminder that there is no level of pain where I am justified in breaking. Shut up. Just take it and keep working. Oh, and smile. Act grateful.

Look at this nice house you are allowed to live in. Look at the fact that your clothes aren’t rags. Look at the food you are given. Demonstrate your gratitude or you will be sorry.

I am already sorry. I am not sure how to be more sorry.

A buddy sent me contact info for a counselor/breath worker. On one hand, my breathing is definitely shitty right now.

This is why I usually go and find a therapist when I am ok. So I can get to know them not in a crisis state so that they can see that I am fucked up when I walk in and they know to treat me as if I am not ok. I don’t know how to go establish trust right now. I feel like one wrong word and I am going to bounce.

What is the point in trying to form new relationships right now? I have upwards of a 95% failure rate and I can’t take that right now. I am fucking aware that most of the world would prefer that people like me just stop taking up an inappropriate amount of resources. One surefire way to accomplish that.

I don’t feel like a bad ass today. I feel dirty. I feel disgusting. I feel like I am pollution. I feel like I don’t know how to be in a room with people. I am just so gross and every part of me feels bad. I am scared to talk to people. I will say something I shouldn’t or stand in a way I shouldn’t or move my body in a way I shouldn’t and I will deserve whatever I get.

I want to lock the door and cover the windows and never come out again. They can come and get me when they can’t stand the smell of the corpse.

I feel like I am never going to be good enough to stop deserving punishment, so why try? I am so very out of pointless, useless, ineffective try.

I feel like I am supposed to react to being beaten down by jumping up and looking for a fight. I am supposed to assert my right to live.

I don’t feel it any more.

It’s not like I feel much faith or hope in the NHS. I feel like I should start opting out of care so they can’t hold it over my head like a weapon.

I feel deeply under threat from pretty much every direction and the mother fucker raped me in my studio. I have literally nowhere I get to go to feel safe. This is the room where Noah hurts me too.

The symbolism of these men in this room as my “safe space” is kind of like my entire life in one pretty picture. This is what I get and what I deserve and what I will always deserve until I die.

I don’t know how to be ok right now. Yeah, I know that Noah touches me nicely too and that undoes all the damage.

It totally works that way and I’ve been nice to Noah lots over they years and that’s why nothing I do ever traumatises him in any way, right? Isn’t that how this works?

I feel like a toy that a child broke. Now the child is hitting me against the floor because they are furious that I am broken. Only that isn’t fair. Noah didn’t do all of the breaking.

How in the fuck am I supposed to buck up and model that life is a lot of hard work but it’s worth it?

There is a bunch of highly specific work I could and should be doing for my garden for this winter if I want to be working towards that party I want in 16 years. What am I doing? I’m sitting inside and crying and screaming because that’s the last form of self harm I am allowed to have. I scream until my skull wants to break in two.

I don’t know what I am supposed to do with this breaking, Akhilandeshvari. I know that what would be best for Noah would be for me to not need anyone other than him again. That is what he wants. He’s ok with friends but he needs them to be like tertiaries, not secondaries.

There have been so many times in my life when I have wished that a trauma could break me down so that I never reached out again and each time I have been broken open further. I am doing a lot to avoid that this time. I am not reaching out to people. I shut down social media. I’m going out little and skipping everything I can. I’m trying to avoid talking to people as much as I can.

I am trying to close. Maybe if I do it this way there will be less objectionable behaviour.