Recently, people have said to me "Oh it's so great that you feel comfortable enough to tell me that, you must trust me a lot." To which I internally guffaw: no, I'm just an over-sharer.
And this is possibly one of those times.
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When you go through a break-up, it seems typical that your mates will all gather around you. You go out with them and do wholesome things. They offer pamper evening, coffee dates and nights out to take things off your mind, look after you and keep you entertained.
What happens when you get R-d? What do they do then?
This is not a dig at my friends at all- I don't know how I would get through each week without them.
It's more a question of: what do you do when someone has a traumatic experience? Do you identify it and face it head on? Or skirt around it.
Do you offer the line: "I'm always here to talk about things if you want to."
And do you follow it?
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I didn't call it R for about six months. When my counsellor told me that it was R, and that identifying a traumatic experience for what it was might help, it sent me spinning out. Everything was muted. It felt I had a hand grasping at my throat, my stomach and my heart. I couldn't breathe.
I avoided using the word R because it seemed too serious. It wasn't like that. It couldn't happen to me. Instead, I described it as sexual assault.
Although I know it wasn't my fault that it happened, I take responsibility for not listening to my gut instincts and letting my people-pleasing tendencies to get the better of me. It affords me some form of ownership over a situation that was out of my control.
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All the clichés are true: you stay in touch, you exchange messages, you try to keep up the appearance of a normal friendship, or whatever.
The amount of times people have asked me have I/would I report it. My answer is always the same: that was never going to be an option. It would never stand up. And for what?
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I remember going on a night out with some friends to Blues Kitchen. The live rhythm and soul music with a buzzing Friday night atmosphere of people just having a good time.
But I couldn't dance. Something I have loved doing since (as the cliché goes) I could walk. And perhaps even before then. I am normally the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. Despite this, I struggled to move my body. The music didn't mean anything to me. It felt robotic and forced.
It got me thinking about if other people have had a traumatic sexual-related experience and then struggled to do something non-sexual. One friend told me she used to love swimming and now she avoids it. Another mate said he steered clear of buses for a while because someone made a move on him when he was on the bus.
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On a funnier note, I remember going to the Piano Works to celebrate a mate R's graduation from her Masters. I had arrived on my own and was meeting the rest of the group there.
What I didn't realise is the guys my mates were dancing with (y'know, in one of those weird club circles that we all pretend is fine and not like a miniature social cult) were also friends with R.
I was trying to work out of these guys I had never seen before were okay and friendly or men that wanted to get in our space.
Again, it's the weird double vision of friend or foe.
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I remember one mate giving me a lift back home in his car after a night out so I didn't have to get the bus alone. Even though I KNEW it was perfectly friendly and kind favour, I got a spike of anxiety as I remembered the last time I got in a car alone with someone I though was a mate to take me home.
Again, a similar situation happened last week. I was in the car with the guy I am seeing and I got flashbacks of what happened. I get whiplash between the reality in front of me, trying to stay grounded in the present, and then the past that keeps flashing in my mind.
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Like a cinematic montage, images and scenes flash in my mind without warning. The moments replay again and again. Sometimes this alarms me, jolting me to the side and quickening my breath, and sometimes it doesn't.
I'm not sure what's worse: the panic from remembering a traumatic experience or the numbness.
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I struggle with boundaries and tend to catastrophise. I don't recommend using this line at a job interview when questioned: "What's your biggest weakness?"
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In December I was assaulted by a contact who helped me write an article. Immediately my brain spiralled and was tried to convince me that I had to now start an affair with this married 40-year-old white Tory man. Not to spoil the plot, I didn't.
It's strange what our brain makes us believe when we're in fight or flight mode.
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Let's play a game of: "IS IT NARCISSISM OR IS IT TRAUMA?"
Everyone now and then I go through phases where I feel like everyone is staring at me. It could be an intense day or it could go on for weeks. It normally happens when I'm just trying to get from A to B: when I'm walking down the street, catching the tube and just going about my day. I catch eyes at someone staring.
Sometimes I hold their gaze, willing for them to look away. Other times, when they are much closer to me, I bow my head and fixate my eyes on the floor, willing for them to walk on by without saying anything to me. I turn off whatever I'm listening to in my ears so I can by hyper vigilant to what comes next.
When people stare, I feel like every atom of my being is deconstructed. The viewer is slowly taking me apart, piece by piece, limb from limb. The unscrutinising gaze: it's rare that they are trying to stare me down and flirt with me. But I can feel their sticky eyes on me as they inhale me in and devour me.
I'm aware that people stare into space. Lord knows how often I do that myself. But it just brings everything flooding back that you can never really know what someone is thinking.
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I can't tell you the amount of times I have walked past a man and held my breath, tensed my chest and seized my body inside myself.
I imagine a million possible scenarios in brief moments, climaxing when our bodies are parallel. Then they walk on by.
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