Here and Now

I often have flashbacks and dreams about the sick details of being raped, but I can hardly ever say those details out loud. I have told my therapist some things, but up until now, I never knew that I had also told my mother, and that when I told her, it was out of anger. Anger is a difficult emotion for me to be honest about, and I tend to shove it down as deep as I can get it. My mom said that it was before I went into treatment for the eating disorder, which means it would have been about four years ago. At that point, I had not told my therapist much of anything other than it had happened. I was in a dissociative state when I told her and I don't remember it at all. I haven't talked to my husband about it yet, but she said that he was there, and that later when she came back downstairs, I was sitting in his lap, crying. That tells me that I was back inside the mind of an eleven year old girl. I don't like to think that I'm angry with her about it. As I child, I don...

I'm finished with the dark of my bedroom where the red glow of the alarm clock taunts me with the time. I didn't sleep the night before either. He is gone, and sleeping alone feels empty and strange. I fill the coffee maker with water, emptying the grounds from the night before into the trash can, and wait to hear the gurgle and beep so that I can pour a cup. I hear the television blaring from the the basement, letting me know that the boys are still awake, which makes me feel less alone. They are watching American Pie, and their laughter comforts me, so I carefully carry my coffee down the stairs. I have an In Style magazine, so I prop myself on the couch, turning the glossy pages, although I'm restless. I decide to get on the computer to type out these words. Writing cures the boredom because I don't really want to think about my therapy session the day before. I'm afraid to process the feelings. I cried, which I rarely do, and afterward I didn't feel any bett...