That Was 32, This Is 33
It's my birthday, baby!
Thirty-two was a big, odd, horrible nightmare. But it was beautiful, transformative, self-discovering, self-remembering, and a finding-closure type of year. So much happened, so much was concluded, so much began, so many seeds were planted.
Falling in love again is terrifying. My divorce was finalized at the end of July after a year of war. I made it. I survived. Things are so much better now.
I left abusive relationships. I quit my addiction to an abusive man, finally, after trying, and trying, and trying. I danced.
I tried to do yoga regularly. I failed.
I signed papers, gave up my house, and made a new home. I moved three times.
I started drinking water and was annoyed that everyone was right. I do feel so much better. I recently fell in love again with The Actor after playing with polyamory. We’re monogamous. It’s beautiful and terrifying to depend on someone for so much again. I have trouble trusting people now.
That was the reason for the polyamory. I was afraid of depending on one person. I wanted a safety net of people.
Last night, I had a bad PTSD episode. I was alone at night in my apartment for the first time in what felt like months. I was afraid. I imagined the men who scared me showing up at my door, and I had intrusive thoughts of sexual assault scenes I’ve seen in films. I could barely breathe.
I wanted to drink but didn’t - mainly because I was too anxious to drive to the gas station.
I’ve been studying the enneagram. Type four all the way, baby. Like, super fucking type four.
I want to talk about the future, but I am afraid to. I am excited about the future, and I have hope for the first time in so long. I am always afraid of the future. I am afraid I didn’t learn the lesson and am going to repeat my mistakes.
The PTSD is bad. I curl up in the fetal position in the car when your voice sounds slightly annoyed. I am afraid when you move too fast. We play a book in the background while we fuck so I can ground myself, not disassociate, not get sucked into the sexual assault memories from a year ago.
#metoo baby in all the ways — CSA, workplace harassment, intimate partner violence, sexual assault
Someone said in a meeting, “I was a sitting duck for this disease.” Ain’t that the fucking truth, baby.
Is it a red or a green flag that I’ve gone no contact with everyone in my toxic family — to either directly physically, verbally, or emotionally abusive to me themselves or complicit in it?
I don’t give a fuck. Here’s to 33. It’s 10:25am and I’ve been drunk since eight. I’ve been awake since 2:30.
xx,
Kait
