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In the deepest recesses of my mind, I try to lock him in a box. But he spread into all the cracks in my mind and oozed out of all the other boxes I hid high on the shelves in a dark room I vowed never to return to. He was in the shadows in my room at night, watching me sleep. The creak on the stairs when I was alone. The movement in my peripherals when I was making dinner.
It took a long time for me to get over the darkness he left on my tattered soul. His manipulation and control caused me to experience complex post-traumatic stress disorder and severe anxiety.
The thoughts of him were intrusive and inescapable, reinforcing my feelings of fear, powerlessness, and helplessness.
His presence was a persistent shadow in my life, never leaving my side and constantly reminding me of the trauma I experienced.
I spent many years in therapy with my Psychiatrist, Dr. Emily Larsen. She was patient with me and showed me how to construct the walls to protect my mind.
Some days, I felt incapable of functioning even if I hadn't been on medication.
I contemplated killing myself several times, so I didn’t have to see him when I closed my eyes.
Or feel his fingers digging into my skin.
The pain in my core when he raped and tortured me.
The panic I felt when I heard him coming down the stairs to hurt me again.
There was a time when the memories became too painful, and I tried hanging myself from the stairwell railing.
I wasn’t particularly proud of it, but at the moment, I felt like it was my only option.
Fortunately, the beam could not support my weight, and it broke in half, sending me crashing to the ground.
As I lay on the floor crying, my shame overwhelmed me.
I called Dr. Larsen, and she rushed over. She could have checked me into a psych ward where I was monitored 24/7, but she stayed in my home with me instead. She stayed for weeks until she was sure I was stable enough not to attempt suicide in her absence.
She saved my life, and I will never be able to repay her for her kindness. This was the second time someone saved my life, and I vowed to get my head out of my ass, take the chances I was given, and make something of my life.
For years, I’d wake up screaming because the nightmares were too real.
I smelled his hot breath on my neck, whispering in my ears. His cold, bony fingers digging into my thighs as he roughly shoved them apart. His sharp teeth bite into my skin.
Sometimes he would be there watching me, his shadow illuminated by the light outside, but when I got up to confront him, he would disappear.
I slept with the lights on for years after him. In my mind, there was nowhere for him to hide if there was no darkness.
Dr. Larsen helped me create a safe space in my house, meticulously replacing windows, locks, and doors with studier materials. She told me it wouldn’t necessarily save me, but it would buy me time, giving me a chance to escape. I probably never would have left my house if it weren't for her.
The sudden rush of emotions caught me off guard, leaving me feeling vulnerable and disoriented. The crippling panic attacks that happened multiple times a day had all but disappeared.
Except for the past six months.
The proximity of the murders brought much of my trauma to the surface.
The room began to spin and close in on me. The air was suffocatingly hot.
It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.
In and out. In and out.
I lean my head against the wall and focus on my breathing, just like she taught me.
I count each one of my heartbeats until the pounding in my temples begins to dull.
The intense attack slowly subsides, and the room stops spinning, giving me control of my body back.
