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Run

- TRIGGER WARNING -
This article contains a memoir about self-harm, sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.

Ten minutes, it's all it will take. I look at the inside of my leg, and the cut glass I'm holding. It's an easy death. Fifteen minutes, tops. 

What else can I do?

I look at the positive test. I feel blood leaking from my underwear. The chance of life still being inside me while I've been bleeding like this, is so incredibly small. How can this have happened anyway? This moment; everything. I tried to protect myself from this. I tried to do the right thing, but it feels like I'm living the plotline of a hysteric theatre play with follows Murphy's law as director. Any second now, a sad violin will pop up. Someone will slow-dance to it, while singing a monologue about the fragility of life. This can't be real. Is this really happening?

Nothing means anything.

I can hear his scream echo through my head. It doesn't matter if I'm awake or not. In my nightmares he will find me, even during the day; for my brain is a place of nightmares now, even when I'm standing here, with eyes wide open, all alone.

I've lost. I can't escape what's happening inside of me. I can't escape what it means. Was I really pregnant when it happened two weeks ago? Did he not only do this to me, but to his own blood? Did it cause this? 

My stomach hurts and I need to vomit. Blood on the floor. Everything is a mess. Is this my punishment for being so naive? Is this what happens to people who are dumb enough to trust someone whom they know to be a liar? They tell me I'm smart, but it feels like stupidity is woven into my soul. Is this what happens, when you try to protect someone, who shouldn't be protected? Is this the result of love, and is this the universe laughing in my face for believing in a fairytale concept?

My face might be a waterfall, but my body is an empty well. No coins or wishes can save me now. I'm alone, water pouring and slowly collapsing. Bleeding, inside out. Literally and figuratively. This is just a bad joke. Wake up. Stay awake. Don't give up.

I see his face, screaming, in front of me. His calming podcast-voice is gone. It happened out of nowhere. How can someone so articulate and British, who's a vegetarian even, turn violent? Did it really happen? I know it did. But there's a difference between knowing the truth, and actually accepting it.

As long as I don't accept it, maybe it will never be a truth anyway. 

Everything is fucked. Maybe I can just leave this world, before I fully accept reality. Because I know once I completely bow down to it, the next fight will be with myself and what I believe in. A fight with my own morals, and doing the right thing. What is the right thing? Everything I did has brought me to this point. Every good intention, while I never meant to cause anyone harm. In January I said I'd make fighting sexual violence one of my personal priorities. It was a good New Years resolution. It's why I donated to the Kesha Gofundme page. What kind of human am I if It's November now, and I already let go of my own voice, because it happened to me and came too close? I'm not strong enough. I'm a coward. Most importantly, I also don't want to hurt him. I'd rather die than hurt him. Why am I afraid of the truth? Why do I want to protect him?

He did this to you, I can hear my own voice in my mind say.

Maybe it's better if I just go. Then reality can't harm anyone anymore. If I'm the problem that can expose an ugly truth, then maybe it's best to get rid of the problem. That way I won't have to hurt anymore, or hurt anyone in this process. He's loved by his fans. In the long course of life, does it matter he did these terrible things to me, if he also makes many people happy? I'm meaningless. I'm nothing. I've never mattered. The pain, it won't go away. Something inside, it broke that night. You know you won't recover. You will carry this with you for the rest of your life. The idea, that someone who loved you, did this to you, and doesn't care at all. It's a pile of shit on a mountain of shit. You will never escape Pooptopia. You will never be able to trust someone again in your life. Everything is pointless. Everything. You'll turn 27 in a few days. Nothing will change.

Ten minutes, I think. Ten minutes, it's all it takes.

It happened.

I can't accept that.

I hold the glass tight, until my hand starts bleeding. I feel no pain. The femoral artery, it's just a cut away.

I think of my son, and how he deserves a happy mother. Someone who always laughs, and dances with him to silly music, like we did before. He deserves someone who's optimistic. He needs someone to help him live his life, that gets him through the troubles he will face due to his autism. He needs someone happy. That's not me. He's better off with someone else. Otherwise he'll become a sad person too. He's so kind and happy now. I will ruin him. I need to go.

WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO?

There's nothing I want to do. This world is based on hurt and if you're not eating you'll become food, that's a fact. My life is a series of failures. I'm on a train of destruction, each wagon containing a device that can explode within minutes, causing a chain-reaction. I'm useless. I'm garbage. What happens to my mind, doesn't seem to matter. I'm a piece of meat. I'm only good for consumption.

Maybe he put that thought in your mind.

.. What?

WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO?

Run, I think. Run, as fast as I can. Away from here. I just want to disappear.

Then run.

RUN.

An hour later the signs on the road are in German. Same song on repeat. Loud. For hours. I just cry, and drive, and cry and drive. I fill up the car at the filling station, puke in the toilet of the restaurant, and drive on. Six hours. Nine hours. They said 2016 has been a load of fuck, and the year hasn't even ended yet. What more is to come?

I don't want to know. This isn't happening. 

Run.

Inside the System: A blog series about mental health, being hospitalised, and pretty much everything I've experienced these last 6 months. From naked patients crawling through the hallway, to having your medication dose raised 4 times in 6 weeks due to your ex boyfriend threatening you. From being publicly shamed online for speaking out and being called a liar, to what actually happened, and how and when I will press charges against my ex. So, a lot of mental vomit will be thrown on my blog upcoming weeks.