I put it to you, dear internets, that I am still afraid of him.
Some would call it an irrational, baseless fear, given his complete lack of interest in us. I mean he has made absolutely no efforts to find or contact us and probably never will.
But I will never forget the battering my psyche took with every single blow of his emotional hammer. Every single lie, discovery, betrayal. Virtually every single word that ever came out of his mouth or from his pen.
Those blows nearly led me to my own self-destruction and it is that memory that makes me afraid. I am afraid of my own failings. Of how he might use them. Of how one more, tiny thing could send me back there.
Perhaps what I’m describing is PTSD – the flashbacks, the terror, the auditory and visual hallucinations. I am seeing shadows and hearing noises. The ghost of the pain inflicted by his blows is always only just around the corner. Especially in an empty, quiet house.
I am not crazy. I never was. Except, I felt like I was. Is there a difference?
I have to tell you, dear internets, that I don’t trust anyone. It’s hard work to be constantly questioning people’s motives for the most innocent of actions. As I mentioned before, every slight, even imagined, hurts and reinforces my distrust.
Will I ever feel safe? How much razor wire and how many vicious dogs do I have to surround myself with to feel safe? Of course, I will only succeed in making myself a prisoner. A prisoner of my fear?
Is everything I write here being recorded and stored as evidence of my craziness? You may think I’m paranoid, but there are precedents. I feel watched. I feel judged. I don’t think anyone truly gets it.
I do want to be free of this fear. I am working on it. Acknowledging it is a start. Right?
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