I shouldn’t feel guilty.
I shouldn’t feel guilty that my Mum is sat downstairs getting upset because she can’t find me any help.
But I do. She doesn’t understand that the reason we’re in this mess in the first place is because I am consumed with hurt and rage because of what has happened to me. I don’t want to have to cry to prove I’m upset. If I was fine with it all, we wouldn’t need to get me professional help in the first place. I just wish I wasn’t here, and then no-one would be angry or hurt or upset that we can’t fix me.
I need help. There is nothing available on the NHS for people like me; we just have to live with it. Pick up the pieces of our shiny happy old lives and try and fit them back together, even though they’re all different shapes now. I cannot do this on my own.
The minimum wait for any of the services we have tried is 5 months. The next step is private counselling. But I need long term help, it will take months and months, and at £50 a session I’m not sure it’s do-able. Do only rich people get raped? Since about May I have thought about killing myself nearly every day, there is no light at the end of the tunnel anymore, just a fucking ticking clock. I’ve been in hospital three times, it’s getting closer each time, and I’m getting more bottle. Make me wait another seven months and I will have more balls than the fucking army.
Right now I feel nothing but rage. I feel so angry that if I was to explode or something I would blow up the whole of Bristol. I don’t even feel sad, maybe just a bit, but only for my family.
He fixed me. It wouldn’t be like this if he didn’t just abandon me. He’s still sending me emails and stuff telling me he never wants to speak to me again. Fuck him. He will have forgotten about me in a few days, he doesn’t give a shit. I’m so bad, I ruined his life. He’s 27, he says this is the worst thing he’s ever had to contend with and yet he still doesn’t have the empathy to stick around. Fuck him.
