Today has been such a productive day as regards research and preliminary contacts for the new trauma centre.
I feel as though I have made lots of progress and wanted to share with you some more details of my life as present.
All the time I was a working girl and my mother was alive, I had never felt able to truly love anyone nor felt that any man or anyone, other than my children, had truly loved me.
There had been a few times over the years when I quit the industry and tried to do a 'normal' job but I always went back, unable to cope with a life of anything other than chaos.
Anyway, last year, I met a guy, whilst I was still working and although I knew I should never have done, met him a couple of times before finally telling him why I could not see him again. Because of my work.
We had a connection whereby I knew I wanted to be honest with him and so I told him the truth, before breaking away. At that time though, I also told him a little about my upbringing. He needed, I guess to know, 'why', I did what I did. Anyway, time passed and we had no contact but I never forgot him. For the purposes of my blog, I will call him, 'Mark'.
An irony is, that I heard nothing from him until the day of my mother's funeral when he mailed me, out of the blue. There was absolutely no chance he knew of my mother's death as we know no one in the same, social circles and so on. The upshot is, a day or two after my mother's funeral, I had been drinking heavily (I don't usually drink) and called him at home, late one night.
''I need you to listen to all of the reasons I am going to take my own life. Yes, I have friends, but they cannot bear to see the person I have become, so I need you to come and sit and listen to me. Don't try and stop me. I have a right to do it! Just listen and then tell them, tell them all, all of the reasons I ended my own life.'' I was going out of my mind with grief. But Mark came over to my house and sat with me as I ranted and screamed and cried on and on. I sobbed mercilessly about some of the things that had happened to me over the years. About how selling my body has been 'easy' in compared to the rest of it. And about how I did not want to live, not for another second. I just needed for someone, someone to know the whole truth. The whole story that had brought me to that very, dark place in my life.
I did not wash myself for four days. I did not eat at all. In fact, all I did was cry, go crazy and talk about all of the abuse. The curtains remained closed, lights switched off and candles burned both day and night. My beloved mother, yet abuser was dead. Mark sat and listened and gave me his opinion, only when I asked him to do so. Much of the time I was not sober, drinking vodka both day and night, yet falling into short, alcohol-induced sleep at short bursts, only to wake and start drinking again. I cradled my body, hugging my own self in embryonic-like state.
''Don't ever call the doctor. Don't ever try to get me locked up, someplace.'' I said, again and again. But Mark never did. He did nothing but listen and drive to the shop to get me more alcohol when I demanded it.
He knew that I needed to feel I had some control over my own life. And over my own death, too. And for as long as he sat and listened, the lines of communication were still open. I was still able to vent some of my anger, grief and pain. I had arrived at that place in my life as I had never been able to control anything, least of all, my mother's death. The final, assault.
I felt no connection with Mark at that time, other than the fact he was someone who could deal with all of this stuff, remaining composed each and every second as I relayed vile stories of abuse, depicting graphically what had happened over the years. I did not care any more. I was now a woman who was about to end her own life anyway. It mattered not one iota. I had no self-dignity. No self-worth. My hair matted, my face swollen from crying. Just the two of us remained within the blackness of mourning, the pictures of my mother and me as a baby, surrounding me, as the candles flickered and danced beside our faces.
Every time he left me to go out over that few days, he would never know if I would be alive upon his return. Neither did I as I counted to ten, over and over.
''Don't do it, don't do it'' My mind with thoughts racing, still meeting with nothing but it's own, living hell. But each time he returned, I would still be breathing, ready to tell him the next part of the story. Mark did not leave my side for four days and nights. He never slept whilst I was awake. He never told me he was tired. He just stayed, regardless of his own needs.
Four days later, he took me to his house, away from the memories of my mother and her death. There was still no relationship between us. I was simply a woman who was broken, struggling each moment to stay alive. I still could not and did not want to eat or sleep. I still could not escape from my own mind. I carried on drinking each day and night. After all, I deserved to drink, right? Despite my having vowed I would never become an alcoholic like my mother. I was soon drinking a litre of vodka per day. It took a further ten days for me to finally reach the decision that I could either carry on drinking or stop before it only added to all of my other problems. In a moment of clarity, as the rain fell outside and I felt it on my face for the first time since my mother's death, I realised that I did not want to slide down that slippery slope. I had promised myself since childhood I would never end up an alcoholic. After all that I had lived, was I going to let go for the sake of a bottle of vodka? I was stronger than that, surely. I have been held hostage by men and drugged, sexually assaulted many times, men have threatened to break my back, set me on fire and cut my throat. And I still survived. If I could live through all of that, I still had a spirit, locked in somewhere. And a soul that was capable of loving, at least my children. And when the rain fell upon my face, it felt like for the first time. Because I had never, ever been free to be me, whoever she is. I threw away the vodka. And now, I am alcohol free. No, it was not easy but I know that in order to recover, I need to feel all that I do.
It was when I got sober that I realised I had fallen in love with Mark. How could I not? He is the man, who unwittingly, saved my life when I was suicidal and even after the 'system' had let me down.
He is the only man who has ever known the whole story and loves me regardless. He is supporting me in creating a new life and all that I am doing with the new centre.
Mark told me just yesterday,
''You do realise that when you are better, we are going to have such an amazing relationship, more amazing than we have now, don't you?''
And actually, I am not sure that, that is possible. How many other people could ever say they got together with their partner when they were suicidal? I have no idea but it sounds pretty amazing to me.
Other than that, I have been doing more research and contacted some major U.K agencies about the work that I intend to do. The United States has programmes similar to the centre that I seek to establish but still, to the best of my knowledge, there is nothing here in the U.K. I have some solid ideas for funding which I am working on too at present.
The funny thing is, the few people who know what I am doing have said,
''Surely you should work on your own recovery before trying to help anyone else.'' But this is my recovery. This is my way of fighting back against all that happened to me. And with each small step, I become that little bit stronger.
And one day in the future, I will not only exist, I will feel alive too. And being with Mark, helps me do just that.