My Guilt and Why I’m a Crappy Friend

I have a book with a list of subjects to write about here. Things I think about at 3:00 am when the world is sleeping and I’m having panic attacks and sweating buckets.

First of all – why is it I can’t sleep at night, but I can sleep during the day – albeit in little “snippets”. The sleep is usually fraught with horribly frightening and realistic dreams – full of colour and stories that relay slightly to life at the moment, but make no sense at all. It usually takes me at least half an hour to calm down.

I can’t take valium as I’ve generally had to take pain killers at some point close to “bedtime” which is when my pain really ramps up. I can’t mix the two – I probably could but I just don’t want to go through the possibility of repercussions.

So, big breath….here goes.

I’m achingly jealous of my girlfriend who has a beautiful grandson. My arms are empty, I want to hear that baby giggle and smell that baby smell and look at that face and think…this came from me. I can’t tell her (although I guess I just did), but it makes me feel like a monster. I want that so desperately. And like a petulant child, I do find myself thinking “it’s just not fair”.

Another very dear friend has a beautiful, clever and willful 16 year old daughter who thinks she’s 30 and can handle it all on her own. We were all like that at 16 weren’t we? She was brutally attacked and raped, and for over an hour my dear friend told me the details and I tried my very best to be caring and supportive.

I think I did OK. I held up through the phone call, gave some advice, listened and cried for this wonderful young lady. Then I hung up the phone.

My life has been full of crossed boundaries, pain, attacks, and trying to do the right thing. It all came crashing in as soon as I hung up the phone. I curled up into a little ball and cried for hours. I can’t explain it to ML. Too many stories, too much pain and guilt and misery. It never goes away and this young woman will never be the same again. It changes you.

My attacks started at four, then at seven, eleven, thirteen….and on and on and on. Yes, I took a lot of chances in my older years and put myself in stupid situations. But I truly believe what I went through as a young girl changed me forever. I didn’t get any therapy until I was in my 20’s, and by then it was well and truly too late.

The worst part of all this is all the times I didn’t report an attack, or harassment, or bullying – or whatever it was – and I know in my heart that the aggressor most assuredly went on to reoffend.  Being a victim, reporting it and going through the process with the police and the court system is like being attacked all over again.

But I couldn’t tell my friend that. Her daughter is in for a world of frustration and torment. But does she need to go through the process to regain her power? Or is it better if she just learns to be more careful and walk away. I truly don’t know the answer.

So I haven’t contacted my friend since and I feel like a total shit. I just don’t know what to say and I can’t deal with this. I want to sit in a chair with my grandchild, read books, sing itsy bitsy spider, and hold on tight.

This week I am a shit. I have done NOTHING around the house. I have not showered. There is an enormous pile of laundry to fold. I barely spoke to ML tonight. He wants me to get excited about the possibility of buying a house, but I truly could not care less.

I want peace. I want wisdom. I want a small slice of joy.

 

 

Margaret Atwood’s book The Testaments is on hold and waiting for ML to pick it up for me at the library. On Thursday.

I’m grateful.