This is not going to be an easy post, but I need to get this out, I can’t let it sit and stew. This post comes with a trigger warning for anyone sensitive to self harm, and assault.
I just checked Facebook memories and have been reminded that it was a year ago yesterday that my ex best friend’s boyfriend took complete advantage of me, and I ended up alone in a hospital I did not know. I have briefly covered this in my About Me section. I think writing about it, even if I am making no sense, will help. I can’t leave work, I can’t hide, I can’t have an episode.
I’d know C for years, so long that I do not remember how we became friends. We were close, I listened to her issues, we spent weekends together and she made me laugh. We had a lot in common and she was easy to hang out with at first. There was minimal drama, you know? Just 2 girls who connected and enjoyed each other’s company. There wasn’t a subject we couldn’t talk about. It was great, until she met her boyfriend J. The first 1-2 years together they had huge arguments, they broke up, it was a fucking mess. J lied about having cancer, using that as an excuse to leave C. He lied about having Bipolar. He lied about everything you can imagine.
They eventually moved in together, and I didn’t want to miss out on spending time with C, even though she knew my strong negative feelings towards J. I didn’t like him. He made me feel uneasy, I couldn’t stand the way he spoke to C, how he belittled her, gas lighted her, and basically spent most of his time crushing any confidence she had. C will never leave him, because she doesn’t have the confidence to do it, to be alone, or to know she would meet someone else. J isn’t leaving, why would he? He has perfectly molded a girlfriend that has no thoughts of her own anymore.
I do not want to go into horrific details, I do not want to trigger myself. Let’s just say, he took advantage of me on their sofa, whilst C was in bed upstairs. I was drunk. I am not saying this is an excuse, or anything, just facts. I was passed out level of drunk. J doesn’t drink, he makes a point of saying he is sober as apparently he can suffer anger blackouts, hurt people and have no control. Sure thing, big man.
Fast forward. I return. I get shit faced again because I need the courage to confront him, to tell her. I do. I’ll admit. it was not in a classy manner. C freaks out, but can you blame her? From here on out memory is patchy. There is a lot of shouting, a lot. I call my dad because I am freaking out. J tells her he never touched me. I was the instigator. I came on to him. I’d sit on the sofa and touch him under cushions. I’d push myself on him when C wasn’t around. Now.. I genuinely cannot stand this “man” He makes my stomach turn. I’ve never hidden how little I think of him. His idea of events baffles me. The fact C sided with him? That hurts me.
I cut myself that night. Badly. I cut my arms deep, twice. I cut my left thigh, badly. There was so much blood. SO much. I can remember it so vividly. I can still see it, feel and smell it. I was in and out of conscious. J had left the house at this point, C was trying to keep me conscious. Her kitchen is covered in my blood at this point. All this is happening and an ambulance is en route. I don’t remember how I got in the ambulance but I remember being in there, crying. C wouldn’t come with me. She said something about the dog, but I know she was staying for J. She was waiting for J. I was taken to a hospital in London, I don’t remember which one. I was drugged up with Morphine. I was moving, I was crying, I was struggling. I did not want to be there. The staff didn’t understand. I am not attention seeking, please let me go. I have to tell her what happened, please stop putting morphine in my IV.
I don’t remember much else. My best friend of 23 years drops everything the minute I call her and tell her I need her. We hadn’t spoken in months, we had our own issues, but she drove to London. She spent that time with me. Suzi helped me stay calm, she helped me piece bits together. She helped me clean some of the blood off of me and reassured me I was not alone. I will never ever be able to thank Suzi enough for being my actual guardian angel that day. She well and truly saved me from a very dark place.
My parents turn up, they fuss me, care for me, and let me know I am safe. I was so terrified of what was to come after people knew what happened that I was genuinely contemplating getting fixed up at the hospital, contacting no one, and leaving. Where too? I didn’t know. I just “knew” I couldn’t go home, I couldn’t face anyone. I didn’t want to be the girl that got raped twice. The girl who is in the wrong situation again. I didn’t want to face the accusations, the questions, the doubt. I was going to leave, and wing it. Who knows where I’ll end up.
I was met with love when people found out. I was met with softness, and understanding. I went home later that evening when I had been seen by a plastic surgeon. I needed 5 layers deep of stitches, I had to stay off my leg as much as possible. I had been through the ringer. I felt numb. I felt like it wasn’t real. How do I come back from this? Who the fuck am I anymore because PTSD seems to be my fucking identity. A whole year later, I can’t believe I am still here, and I didn’t accomplish that alone. I did this with the help of so many people. Friends, family, and my dogs. It was a slow process.
I think I am doing okay. My PTSD is still there, still high, still on edge. But I am still here. That isn’t changing. C stayed with J. Her defense? “He has been accused of that before, so he is careful now.” I know this blog is easily accessible and I couldn’t give a fuck if she reads it, if she shows him, if someone knows her and sends her the link. Good.
So, Chantelle. If you do read this, if you do get your dirty hands on it. I am coping. I have new people in my life that love me, do not doubt me, and do not leave me. You didn’t break me, Jonathan didn’t break me. I’ve come back stronger, and with even more of an attitude that you cannot keep me down. You two deserve each other, I hope you stay together so neither of you ever inflict your bullshit poison on another person. I know you need me more than I’ll ever need you. The only time I think of you is, funnily enough, when something triggers my PTSD and I remember his face, his body, my pain. I remember you too. Guilty as he is. I hope you still feel, see and smell the blood on your kitchen floor and know what happened there is on your hands too.