I don’t know how a child survives abuse that entails everything but rape by her father and two of three brothers. I don’t know how I survived but I did but I am not whole and perhaps I never will be.
I thought all of this was over – I spent the 90’s in and out of therapy/counselling, I thought I had put it to bed, I thought it was over.
I met and married Mr Blog – probably the healthiest choice I ever made. In time we found we were expecting Peter and after some initial panics I got my head around this huge event. Then we were joined by Ellie and as time passed and I was not visited by the depressions and panics of the past, I stopped expecting them, stopped metaphorically looking over my shoulder and under the bed for the monsters that lurk there. I thought I was free.
I’m not sure what exactly it is that has triggered stuff this time round – and I am scared shitless at the depth and intensity of anger that must have been there for so long. I do know that somehow Peter manages to lift the lid on it and it is taking all my energy to prevent it spilling over on to him.
Idle Pilgrim wrote on her blog about anger strong enough to trash her dining room and I sometimes envy her for the luxury of being the only one around to be hurt by her own wrath. If I lose it like that I run the risk of damaging my husband and my children – it isn’t an option.
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