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Little Black Book of Eventually Read Secrets
May 17th
The day draws nearer.
The anniversary for the worst night of my life.
I feel numb at the thought of it. But then, I also feel miserable, depressed, violated. I look at myself in the mirror, and I can't stand it.
Running my fingers through my hair, I tug and pull, like he did, and frustration seeps from my eyes and runs down my cheeks. That spot on my head, when it hit the stairs on the way down, still aches at the touch. I brush my hair accordingly to hide it, though there is no mark to speak of.
I don't think about it very much anymore. I feel grateful for my BPD, which allows me to compartmentalize my trauma, and detach my emotions. I've taken my memories of that night, and shoved them into a box at the very back of my mind. I visit it, only briefly, every now and then, when I feel strong enough. But then, what is the point?
But once a year, I have no choice. Despite my attempts to keep busy, my mind flits to it in moments of absence thought, and I feel myself sink a little. I feel the memories at the brim of my consciousness.
And never mind the nightmares. The last one left me an absolute mess on waking. A distorted memory, it was so violent, that I ended up being sick in bed when I sat up...What happened to me, thankfully, wasn't so violent as that. But, the brain can be a monster sometimes.

The other night, I found myself sitting here alone. It was past 2 in the morning. My husband had long gone to bed without me--which seems to be the norm these days--and I sat in the dark, listening to the sound effects of the ocean in a game minimized on my screen.

I sat in the dark, staring at my phone, watching the time, lost in my thoughts. When one thought finally hit me. 'Go on google maps. Find it.'
And I did. I don't know why I would. I never did it. I never needed to know. But I went on there, and I followed my path. From the house, to the beach, to the golf course, then to the dirt road where my path crossed with that man and his group...then to where it happened.
Admittedly, I was surprised how far from home I was. It didn't feel like it, when it happened. But, then, I was also hopped up on painkillers, and numb with the determination to kill myself--so, y'know, I wasn't exactly keeping track, neither did I have my phone, or my glasses...And, some part of me was also surprised he waited so long.
I asked myself stupid questions. Like, why did he wait? What was he waiting for? Why follow me for so long, just to do...that which he had done? To hurt me? Did he have second thoughts? Was he trying to sober up maybe?

Such stupid, stupid questions. Why do I care. Any rational person never would have done what he did. So why try to apply rational thought to him at all...

It felt strange, following my footsteps on google maps. Little details I had forgotten. The distance from home I had gone. Part of me wondered if I should show my husband...
But then, I remind myself. We don't talk about it. What happened to me..hurts him. Its a failure to him. A failure to protect me...He's supportive of me. He's there for me. But I know that he would prefer if I never spoke of it again to him. At least, in any detail.

So I sigh, and close the window, and resume sitting in the dark, alone.

Its hard to believe it's next Friday...I had him book the day off so I wouldn't be alone...I know I'll be okay though. Its all just a memory now.

So I take it away from my forethought, and I shove it back into it's box, and I put it away.

At least I can write about it here. It helps.

Azure Starwish
Community Member
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