Three months ago today. At this time in the evening the assault was going on I guess.
In some ways I'm getting over it. I can do some normal stuff again. I'm not as constantly terrified or jumpy or anxious.
But then I have days like today when I think I'll never feel normal again. Just bad timing I suppose.
I guess I've survived this far.
I really have to start getting out of bed soon. I'm going out once in a while, when the essentials become essential, but the whole of the rest of the time I am in bed. Constantly. I haven't sat in my front room, I haven't cooked, I have the occasional bath but otherwise every minute of every day I am in bed.
I am just paralysed. I don't know what to do.
Today the anxiety has been back with a vengeance. Waiting for the bus I was suspicious of everyone walking by. On the bus I wasn't too bad. When I got to the place I was going to I was utterly terrified. I did my best but only managed to stay about 20 minutes. Then I needed some shopping and that went better than I expected, I think because the shop was quite quiet. The bus home was scary. Walking from the bus stop was petrifying. So, so glad to get home.
One of the worst things was that I couldn't hide it. I couldn't pretend to be fine. I couldn't look anyone in the eye. I couldn't lift my head up at all actually. Stared at the floor constantly. Jumpy, edgy. Horrible.
I hate that he's done this to me. How can I be so utterly scared of everything? Even looking up, for God's sake.
Well, I've survived the weekend. It has been hard. I only spent probably an hour in total out of my bed. I've been paralysed with indecision and anxiety and fear and depression.
Trying to get things done, to act as if things are normal. But staying curled up under the duvet.
I keep being determined to get back to normal. That tomorrow will be the day I get dressed, go out, do what I need to do, come home, clean the house, make some phonecalls, and be normal. Then tomorrow comes and I can't leave my bed. I can't find clean clothes. Nothing is clean. I'm scared of the phone because so few people know what happened, and trying to hold a normal conversation with someone would feel like a huge lie.
So I spend another day unable to move, unable to climb out of the cocoon. Spending all day so frustrated with myself, and promising myself that in ten minutes I will go and cook some food, I will put some washing in the machine, I will breathe fresh air again. Every ten minutes. All day. For days and days and days.
And I don't. I'm stuck. I know it's not helping but I can't do a thing.