I could feel it in my sleep.
The pounding heart in my chest.
The tightening of it in my throat.
Gasping for air.
Breathe Ang, breathe. You gotta wake up.
I try to yell out His name, but my voice wont make a sound.
Jesus. Jesus, I can’t breathe.
I’m used to this, it happens all the time.
I’m asleep, but I’m not.
My body won’t move, but my mind is totally aware of itself. So much so, that I can talk myself awake, but asleep enough, that I’m still dreaming in this state.
Ang, wake up. WAKE UP!
I don’t want it to happen again. I’m terrified.
I don’t want the monster to come.
Please God. Please.
Jesus, JESUS! JESUS!!!
And finally, my eyes start to open, and the thudding of my heart fills my ears.
I’m dizzy, everything is spinning, and my eyes fill with hot tears.
The room is dark, and my breathe is so fast and so forced, I feel I might just fall over and pass out.
It’s happened before.
But, I’m grateful. Because I got out, before the worst of it came.
I got out before the darkness enveloped me.
Before the hands reached under the covers.
Before, they wrapped around my throat.
Before it was too late.
I turn and grab my phone….3.a.m on the dot.
It’s always the same time.
“Baby….baby!” My voice is frail and frightened.
I can hear my husband coming.
It’s been a long time since we slept in the same bed, and I hate it.
It would be so much easier, if he was here. But he can’t be, because he has sleep apnea.
“My love, oh my love…” and he rushes to me, wrapping his arms around my shaking body.
Sometimes, I can feel his tears on my shoulder, and I hate that I am this way.
I hate what they have done to me.
A lot of the time, I hate myself.
If only, I could “Let it go.” or ” Get over it.” But I can’t.
The memories only came back two years ago, and I’m choking on them.
Sometimes, I think they’re going to kill me, and in the darkest of my moments, I wish they had.
I am a constant reminder of the thing no one wants to talk about.
I am a survivor of Ritual Sexual Abuse.
It is violent, it is evil and it is my reality.
Most days, I refuse to admit this. It’s too sick and twisted to bare.
But at this point, it is seeping through my very pores and there is no where to escape the truth of it.
My memories start at the age of four, and even saying that, brings vomit up my throat.
I am haunted daily.
Chased down in my sleep.
The “triggers” are becoming more frequent, and because of this, I have chosen to face this head on.
I’m tired of running. Of coping, of white knuckling it at every turn.
It’s time to face the monster.
To get the help I need.
Ritual Sexual Abuse is a dark and evil road.
It is demonic, and most of the time, unbelievable.
I ask, and demand, that if you choose to follow my posts, and support me during this time, that you respect my family.
I will be sharing my truth, as I see it, and nothing else.
If you choose to join me on this journey, my journey to freedom, you are brave.
And I thank you, for not being afraid, of my nightmare.
“And the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.” ~John 1:5