The walls are closing in on me

So apart from being in intensive three-session a week psychoanalytic psychotherapy program to somehow heal from the effects of the abuse that happened when I was a child, I am also having to struggle in my “real” life.

I live in a shared house with three other flatmates, and we have been served an eviction notice, and one of us is leaving, two want to fight for our right to stay, and we all are arguing with each other to the extent that I had to walk out last night and ended up roaming around the streets of North London for 2 hours because I could not go home.

I have to move out, but I have nowhere to go.

Housing is so expensive in London that on my salary I can only dream of renting a studio, let alone ever buying property!

I am anxious about having to move yet to another flat-share and having to try to make a place a home after getting evicted from this one, but it has to be done.

I also hate my job, am underpaid, bored, stressed out, and literally pissed on by management as they don’t honor my contract yet I am meant to. I want to leave, even before I will get fired (they’re shifting out jobs to India) BUT I have no clue of what I’d even want to do in life!

I am so stressed out. I’m 28, soon to have no home and no job, no idea of what I want to do in life (if I even want to do anything…) and I have no roots no home, no identity….I’m just existing here in London, hanging on to the things that keep me grounded. Hanging on to things I still have, like friends and…this blog. Therapy. Ex/boyfriend. Who holds my hand when I need to cry. Who tells me not to push him away when I want to take everything out on him.

Who am I? What am I here for? And why the fuck is everything always so fucking hard???? What did I do to deserve this shit????

I have been struggling since I was very little. Hiding under furniture when my dad picked up what he could find and started hitting my mom. All I remember thinking about was that I hope they don’t find me, and I hope he doesn’t kill her.

I struggled to find my place at school. I was an awkward strange child with huge glasses, lactose intolerance, and a strange penchant for always trying to be noticed so I’d do whatever to be on display, yet I ended up as the class laughing stock.

I don’t remember the abuse. Still. I know the memories are there but I can’t / don’t want to reach them. I know it was humiliating, painful, and left me with emotional wounds that it hurts me to even think about it now.

I lost my family. I last heard from my father six years ago when he emailed me claiming he never touched me, that someone has planted these ideas in my mind. And then he disowned me.

My brother has been long gone emotionally. We were tight when we were kids but…we drifted apart. He hates me, he hates God, he pain I think, but he doesn’t know it yet.

My mother I also lost a long time ago. Every time she convinced herself I wasn’t being abused by my dad she drove a rift between us two. Now I don’t even talk to her, but she sends me packages from time to time.

Empty cards. No words. This says a lot more to me than words would, but she doesn’t know I still wish I had a mother who would protect me, hold me in her arms and say it will all be okay one day.

I talk a lot about Alfi, my pony that was put down when I was 14. He was my best friend, my confidante, my world. We were inseparable, and I let him down and now he’s dead. I still wish that God made him my guardian angel, and that when I’m down he’s there behind me, nudging me to push me to stand taller. He’s there to catch me when I fall.

I’m drifting, and I wonder if I will ever find my way. I am tired of this life, and I wonder if I’d be better off in Heaven, holding on to my gram-ma’s hand. She knew everything, but she never said anything either. My whole family is quiet when it comes to real shit, and I let the silence continue. I am tired of trying to scream out my needs in my own little ways, as no one hears me.

I am so tired of life, my life. My life is so shit, it has always been shit, and if I continue, it will always be shit because this is the hand I was dealt.



2 thoughts on “The walls are closing in on me

  1. Pingback: facts about child abuse

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