As I have written earlier, something recently happened. It made me re-think, make some new choices, take some decisions. It was what made me make this blog, in a kind of “I am that strong”-way. I dare to share what happens to me. Writing it down can’t hurt me.
This one is not easy though. But here I go:
It was Thursday, week before last one. It was an ordinary day, maybe I was a bit more tired or worn out then I usually am, I had been working for 60 hours that week.
I went to bed, as usual, listened to my Deep Sleep app and fell asleep. It must have been just over two hours. I woke up, terrified, thinking there was someone in the house. If I hadn’t been alone, I would have woken my husband and told him, I’m sure.
It was like in those British crime series, old house, squeaking stairs, murder in the library-kind of thing. I heard that kind of squeaking noise.
I didn’t get out of the room, but I did get out of bed, really terrified. I shook off the feeling, remembering that the alarm was on, and that particular squeaking noise does not happen in our relatively new house. So I knew…
This is not happening now, it’s a memory from many many years ago, in my childhood home. It is stored some strange place in my brain, wanting to leap out and hurt me from time to time. And with that rather sensible thought I went to bed again, feeling ok with that, (sometimes things like that can make me stay awake for the rest of the night, or several hours at least).
I have no idea if I fell asleep again, and I have no idea of time or place for the next hours. I got lost.
What I do remember is pain, my whole body is just pain, blood red pain, so strong that I can’t move. I have “lost” my arms, they don’t rise up to defend me. I don’t see anything, it is dark. I sense the smell of tobacco. I can’t breathe, there’s this vague feeling that a knee is over my throat and neck, and also a short instant where all the pain is just leaving my body, just to come back again. It hurts. And it never stops. I think that I MUST breathe. And I feel so scared I just loose any other feelings.
Next thing I remember is that I am in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. Sitting on the floor bleeding. The two first cuts are not in my memory, the third I remember, (and that one is not that deep). Feeling the warm blood, feeling the pain released from “everywhere” to three cuts on my thigh, just makes me feel good, right there and then. It’s 5:30 in the morning, I start to cry.
I don’t know how old I was when this memory was created. I think I remember cutting myself as a child, but haven’t for like 30 years.
I am still scared about what happened.
How would you handle something like this?