It is taking every ounce of energy I have to just keep breathing – and I think that sucks!  Last night I watched a scary movie called Room 33 (nuff’ said), and spent the rest of the night rocking to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel .   

Here I am again tonight…watching yet another freaky horror movie on the chiller channel, in a futile attempt to block the horror from my mind.  Running back and forth from my chair to the bathroom…paralyzed, anxious, chest constricted, vomiting. Containment is unattainable.  Currently in this terrible movie a man has trapped a woman in the bathtub and he is slicing her arms and she is bleeding to death in her bathtub…and I’m wondering why that can’t be me.  What’s wrong with me? 

I am alone…my heart is bleeding, raw.  My mind filled with thoughts: It does not really matter.  Ending it would be a relief.   

My hands are shaking my breathing is shallow.  I am using every ounce of energy I have left tonight to write this – thinking if I can write something coherently then I will be able to stay here.   I am frantically searching for a way out tonight.   I so desperately want to leave.

I can’t make it stop.  I’ve tried.  I can’t make it stop.  I can’t make him stop.  My screams echo inside my mind.  The physical horror of his hands on my body, his needs, his power.  The mental terror.   There is no protection in this world of pain.  He pulls my hair. He rips away my nightgown.  He touches me with his cold hands.  I close my eyes in shame.  His face is filled with pleasure while mine is filled with pain.   I silently beg him to stop as he rips me in two. My body is burning  My body is on fire.     

I can’t take this.  I can’t take it. Why didn’t he just kill me? I wanted him to kill me.  Please just let me die in the darkness. I can’t take it anymore.  You are a dirty little bitch, a whore, like your mother.  He said that.  I believed him.  I still do.  I was bad. I needed to be punished.  So he punished me because I was bad. 

I can’t do this tonight.  Not another night  My eyes are burning but I cannot sleep.  I can only sit and rock…and sing…and rock…and vomit…rock…and sing…  I can’t do this.  I am struggling to find a reason to stay here.  I want a xanax.  I want a handful of xanax.  I can’t do this for another night.   I am drifting away.   My *cope* meter is way past empty.   Sometimes the pain is simply too much to bare.   And it is currently too much to bare.   

Please do not tell me it will be okay.  Please do not tell me to hang in there – or hold on till morning.  I am so tired of people telling me it will be okay.  It isn’t okay.  I am not strong.  I am not like you.  I am dead inside.