This week I have blogged an awful lot of hidden truths about myself, shared stuff on social media and had a fantastic amount of good wishes and support from people who both knew the truth, and those who had no idea. Talking with my husband yesterday I admitted I had written a blog post about the whole ordeal; it’s long, it’s harrowing and I haven’t had the courage to post it yet. It is sitting on my dashboard as a draft. Writing it almost made me throw up, the remembered ordeal, the getting down of facts onto the document. I haven’t read it back and when I go onto my blog’s dashboard I ignore it like the plague. My husband said that the best thing I can do is take this next stage of my recovery one day at a time. Yes, that is what it is, a recovery.
With the writing challenge in mind I am thinking about what does my soul want in terms of this “thing” in my life?
Justice was served, sort of – the sentence was reduced as I wasn’t actually killed!!!
That always sat wrong with me. The fact that an 18 year sentence was reduced to 12, with 8 years served, always made me feel that justice was not properly served. The crime was not only committed against me, there were other victims too, but only myself and another woman got justice.
So with all of this in mind, what does my soul want?
I have found that my soul just wants me to let the real me out. The me who was full of life and vibrancy. The real me who got shoved back inside because the injured me didn’t want anyone looking at me. Didn’t want anyone to compliment me, or really engage with me. I asked my husband if there was ever a time I was different when we were first getting to know one another. He told me when I was drinking I was always a happy, carefree person, willing to have fun and not afraid to smile and shine.
That was the old me, the me before the attack. It dawned on me that I could only be myself when I was inebriated. That was a pretty uncomfortable admission. Of course, I had to give up drinking alcohol many moons ago. I cannot take NSAID type medication as I am allergic to it, so my fibro and arthritis are managed by pain meds alone. And pain meds and alcohol just don’t mix, so the choice was medication or a drink? The pain was too much to ignore, so the meds won out. I had other addictions that had emerged because of the attack – solvent abuse and bulimia – but they were eventually conquered in the early 2000’s.
The realisation that when I was first with my husband I was only my true self when I was drunk kind of stung a little. Of course I am my real self with him now, I have been for many years, our relationship is solid and he knows me better than anyone else. He knows things – fears, worries, happy moments – that no other person alive knows about. He gets to see the real me, the me that nobody else gets to see. But his admission that I could not be this person when we first met, unless I was under the influence, really stung. And I knew why, all of those fears of being seen, really being seen and being hurt and the need to hide away, they prevented me being my true self. I was afraid to shine because I had been hurt by a monster and I didn’t want other monsters to see me, for fear they may attack too. When monsters attack you get a warped view of your own life and the world around you and crazy stuff makes so much sense to you, but not to anyone else around you, so you hide out more for fear that your craziness will attract more monsters.
And thinking about all of that made me think “what would that version of me want in terms of justice?”
I meditated upon this and what sprung forth really surprised me.
To be that happy, carefree, joyous person is the best justice. It shows I was not beaten. It shows I am alive and thriving and doing fantastically well. He didn’t break me, not really. His crime against me was all about power and dominance, but I rose from the ashes and am stronger than ever, he did not defeat me.
That is my justice, the justice that my soul seeks.