I’m sitting up in bed this morning. The pain is still there, but so much better. The pressure and heat of the abscess is gone, now just the ache of incision and extraction. As long as I don’t move too fast and try to turn my head, I’m okay. And I need to be okay today. Hank needs to demolish our laundry room. I am in no shape for that, but the kids need me, etc.
I got off the phone the other day, takin’ care of business. Hank says, “Wow, you gotta do something, you do it yourself.” And I’m generally like this. But when I’m under the weather, all of my triggers and insecurities surface. My anger and feelings of abandonment surface. I want to be nurtured and taken care of. I’ve had things like minor back surgery- cauterizing the nerves around my spine. I recovered pretty much alone. Suffering in silence. Even when I had our baby, Hank went out of town the next day on business. “She’ll be okay. She’s tough.” I don’t blame him, I blame myself.
Asking for help is such a hard thing for sexual abuse survivors. We were taught to just button up and carry on. When I ask for something, it often comes out sounding like a suggestion, rather than a request. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Don’t complain. Don’t cry. We are treated like little adults. We become adults. Independent. Needing no one- hell, no one came to help us then, no one can help us now, no one is there for me now, even when I ask, so what’s the point? This becomes my mantra, as I struggle with the pain of this stupid cut on my neck. It sucks- here is yet another way sexual abuse has affected my life. I can’t ask for help. I hate being physically vulnerable. It makes me feel at risk. I hate him. I hate all of them. I just wish someone would care for me, like I care for them. That would be amazing.
