Letter about rain, about reevaluating what I give, and a weird kind of anniversary.

This one is a day early. And unedited. I needed to post it now. I couldn’t read it. I’m sorry for that. Maybe I’ll edited it some time in the future. But for now this is what it is. I hope that’s okay.

15th of August 2019

Hi A

Do you own a pair of rain boots? My only friend in the town I live in have no rain boots. And even if he did there is no chance he would leave the comfort of his chair and his computer screen and hot coffee to go jumping in rain puddles with me. Would you?

My nephew would. Be his parents would have to join and he lives in a different town and at this time of day he’s definitely asleep.

It’s raining. A lot.
Nothing calms me like rain. I love the rain. I feel safe and at home in the rain.

The sound of rain is more like music to me than any piece of music I have ever heard. But then again I don’t listen that much to music. I love the silence too much. Or maybe I just feel the world is too loud and too much and I can’t bear to add more noise to my life as it is. Even if that noise is music.
But rain. Rain is the most beautiful sound in the world. And today it’s raining. I walked home missing my rain boots. Wondering if I should change footwear when I got home and go for a walk. I love walking at night. The rain would only make it sweeter.
I woke up to the sound of the rain this morning. When I hear the rain outside it almost sound like it’s knocking on my window asking me to come out to play.

I like the way the rain feels upon my skin. I’ve never owned an umbrella and have no intention of ever buying one. When it rains I feel like leaving my coat at home. I want to invite the rain to touch me. I love it. Shutting it away behind closed windows, hiding from it under an umbrella, keeping it off me with a raincoat feels wrong. I want to open the windows and stick my arm out and feel the rain.
And point is to get soaking wet and cold. That makes getting home and taking wet clothes off and taking a hot shower so much better. Then it is warm blankets and hot chocolate and maybe I need to bake something.

I love what happens when it rains. The light changes. The world becomes grey. All the brightness fades from the world. The light dims.
The world go quiet when it rains. Not the skies. They make all the noise. Sometimes the rain is loud. But it’s a good kind of loud. Sometimes there is thunder. But the people go quiet. They go inside. They hide away.
I saw it once in my friend. Stepping out in the rain he curled up as if he wanted to make himself small and hide inside his coat. And in the same moment I felt myself uncurl, stretch out and open up to the rain. As if I wanted to hug the skies and welcome the gift of rain. My body wanted to make itself big and open to catch as many raindrops as possible.
The world does the same at night. People do the same at night. They go inside, they become quiet and they go to bed and go to sleep. And that’s when I feel awake and alive and go for long walks in the dark.

I like the dark. The grey. The way the light dims and the quiet begs for company. I feel at home there. I feel like I belong. In the rain and in the night. I was never meant to live in and be awake during the day time. I am a creature of the night. I am made of sadness and raindrops, of quiet and the warm and kind sort of darkness, a darkness that lets you be alone. If I could choose for myself I would probably go to bed at sunrise. That would be wonderful. I could live my whole life never having to wake up in the morning, but a life without stars and the night sky and rain would be meaningless to me.

I know it’s crazy for me to take long walks in the dark at night. I know it might not be safe. I know I am at risk. But I feel the darkness calling. The quiet and the night is too beautiful to not enjoy. And I hate that I have to think it might not be safe. And I think about it every time. I think about what pockets my keys are in. I think about the few people in the streets, are they men or women, are they alone or a group, are they drunk, are they safe. Am I safe? I think about who to call if something happens and I think about how to defend myself. But I have so many friends who can’t step outside their home after dark. Out of fear. And I will not let fear rule my life. I want darkness and night and starlight and I want to jump in puddles in the rain even at night. And I do so.

I love doing these things. I do them a lot. And doing them alone isn’t bad or not enough. It’s perfect. But I think having company once or twice, having someone to share these important things with would be nice. Not every time, not every day. Just sometimes.

Do you have any rain boots? Would you go jumping in puddles with me sometime? It’s okay if you don’t. My nephew won’t outgrow playing in the rain for while.

I won’t let fear rule my life. I don’t let fear rule my life. I think sometimes fear has a hard time getting me to listen. I’m not sure why. I’m not reckless. Except for my long walks alone at night.

I’ve been thinking about a thing I do. I was recently called very intuitive. That’s new. I agree with the statement, it’s just that people tend to call me intelligent (which I definitely am) and this was a new way of seeing myself. Intuition is not something people around me has talked about or valued. And I suddenly have a new perspective on the things I do and feel and the way I look at the world. Not a perspective that is clear or that I understand. But it’s there and it’s new and I want to explore it.

I sense so much from other people. Things I don’t understand. I have a lot of friends with challenges and sometimes I feel as if I see right thought them. Like all the walls around they put up to keep people out are made of glass and I see things they don’t even understand themselves. I have one friend who keeps building bubbles around himself. Bubbles meant to keep him safe and numb. And all I see are his fear and how much he is trying to outrun something that terrifies him. He uses drugs and alcohol and his computer games and tv-shows and other things to keep himself numb and outrun whatever it is. And I see his bubbles and every part of me want so pop them. To take him by the shoulders and turn him to face whatever it is he is running from. But that is not my call to make. I keep myself I check and hold my tongue. He has to do things his way, even when I don’t understand it.

The thing is. I want someone to poke at my bubbles. To help me pop them. I try to face everything that scares me and if I feel myself running I turn myself around to face whatever it is I’m running from. I refuse to let fear rule my life. And when something hurts I’m more likely to poke it with a stick and try to take it apart than try and run or make myself numb. I want it to hurt, I want to feel it, I want to pop the bubbles I build and face my fears and poke at everything that hurts.
But at this point I think (at least for now, at least till I find a new perspective) I’m out of ways to do that. I need help. I need information and perspectives and tool that are not at my disposal right now. And I’m frustrated because I want to do the work of getting better, of understanding, of healing the things that hurt. And right now I can’t. And that leaves me using far too much energy trying not to poke at other peoples problems because I can’t stop myself from wanting to take the things apart to see if I can get them to work properly.
I miss working with clocks and watches. I loved the few years I got to do that. My brain needs problems and loves taking things apart. Sometimes it feels like a great powerful machine that just keeps picking at things and taking them apart, until there is nothing left and if I don’t have a new perspective, new information or new problem to feed it, it just keeps tearing and tearing at what it has, until it’s tearing itself apart. Which hurts. A lot. And that’s why I should never be left alone with any problem or new idea for too long. I’ll destroy myself trying to figure it out.

The last week has been a week of realising that I spend too much time and energy trying to connect to people. I spend a lot of effort sending messages and putting words together telling people I care about that I think of them, that I’m there if they need it, that they are important to me. And that’s all well and good, but I’m not. I’m lonely and wanting to connect. I want to feel loved and prioritised. And I don’t. And me prioritising other people and letting them know they are important to me, is great, but does not in any way fill the endless void of need that I feel at the moment. I feel like a big black hole of neediness and I hate it. But I might have to reprioritise my energy.

I want to feel loved and prioritised. I want to feel needed and cared for. I want to feel important and supported. So maybe it’s time I spend less time and energy giving that to others hoping the world will give it back, and start by giving a little of that to myself. Not saying I’m not going to keep giving to the people around me. But maybe I should refocus and spend more time and energy giving myself attention and care and love and affirmation and support. Just maybe. All I know is that I’m not getting the connection I am so desperately looking for by throwing all this energy into the world at the people I care about. No one has that to give right now. And that’s okay. No one owes me that. But I need it and that need is valid. I just need to approach it in a different way. And the more I don’t, the more this need goes unfulfilled, the more lonely I get, the more desperate I feel. And that’s not helping me connect in a meaningful way.

I have to have patience. With myself and with the people I care about and with the world. I think it’ll all fall into place and I hope for a day when I don’t have to take care of all my own needs for feeling loved and cared for and connected. Because that is a lot to ask of one person, even if that person is yourself. But I have to be self-sufficient enough that I don’t just dump all those expectations on another person.

There is so much I want to write to you about. So many great things I want to explore. But I think this is enough for today. I have something to write for next week and the week after that.

Today felt like a good day for writing. I hope to have many more days like this. Where writing feels like this. Full of good energy and like the words flow on their own.

I care about you A. You are important to me. I hope you’ll find the peace and quiet in your life that I know you desperately need. I hope you’ll find room to write me a letter back sometime. But for now I am patient. Knowing you are there and knowing you are fighting great battles. These letters, this blog, our friendship will be with you through those battles and will be here when you are ready. And me trying to take better care of myself is not me telling you that I have less room for you. That’s just me cleaning out my space so there will be more room and without me expecting anyone else helps me clean up.

So… I think I might have been trying not to write this. But I needed to sneak it in anyway. Unable to quit writing before it was out. I have a sort of weird anniversary today. Today. The 15th of august five years ago I said goodbye to the wolf. The man who spend almost seven years raping and emotionally abusing me. Five years ago I called him up and said I don’t want to see you again and I don’t want to talk to you any more. And when I hung up that was the last time I heard his voice. The last time we spoke. That was when the decision was made and I have stuck to it. For five years.

There were so many years of my life when I didn’t think I could survive without him. I never knew I could make it this far. I didn’t know I would be okay without him.
I still miss what he gave me. The way he cared for me when he cared. I know now it was just part of his manipulation. It was part of the violence and control. He made me feel like I was a small child and I still miss that feeling. I miss how he hugged me and tugged me in to bed, how he would comfort me when I cried, how I knew I could have a total meltdown in front of him and he could handle it and find a way to calm me down. I miss falling asleep on the couch watching movies together. I miss the things he gave me, the needs I didn’t even knew I had before him. I miss having someone I can always call and talk to, who is a part of my life and at witness to my life.

But I don’t miss him. I don’t miss the price I paid for the good things he gave me. And I’ll never go back. Not because the thought of calling him hasn’t crossed my mind many many times. But because I know I can no longer pay the price I once paid to have him in my life. I can’t even think of him and not feel repulsed by the memory of him. The memory of his voice still makes me sick. I still get anxiety attacks when I am in public and suddenly catch the smell of his deodorant or see a person who reminds me vaguely of him.
I’m not okay with what happened to me. I’m not okay with what he did to me. I’m so not okay with missing the good things he gave me. I’m not okay. I’m still not okay.

But I made it five years. Today I’ve made it five years. And I am allowed to be proud of myself for that. I wanted to mark the occasion. But I didn’t know how. I wanted to celebrate or at least acknowledge that this a big deal. But I don’t know who to do that. I just know I made it and it’s been hell and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. Telling him to get out of my life is the best thing I’ve ever done for my mental health.

I don’t think I would have been alive today if not for him. He helped me through some dark times, he showed me what it meant to feel cared for, made me feel loved and worthy and so many other things that I needed. And he took advantage of it and I don’t owe him anything. He raped me and hurt me and abused me. And I would rather have died than live through what he did to me. But I lived through it. I lived I part because of it.

I know I don’t miss him. But the good things he did for me… I can’t imagine them separate from him. I hope for a day when some of those needs will be filled by someone else. I hope to not feel this alone forever. I hope the chapter of my life that was that man will feel more in the past and more calm and placed where it belongs than it does now.
I never imagined I’d make it these five years. But I did. And I’m allowed to feel that it’s a big deal. I’m allowed to feel sad and whatever all the other feelings inside me are. I’m allowed to not be over it. I have no one to call and no one who can tell me I’ve done a great job. But that is one of the things I’m practising doing for myself. So:

Jace, you’ve done a good job. You made it. You’re okay. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. He’ll never touch you again. And you did that. You kicked him out of your life. You deserve better. You never deserved what he did to you. It wasn’t you fault. And whatever you feel today is okay. Whatever you feel is okay. It’s okay. Jace, it’s okay. You are doing so great. And it’s okay if you… it’s all okay. And I’m so proud of you. So proud of everything you’ve done and accomplished. Five years is a big deal. And you’ve done that. On your own. Never underestimate how big a deal it is. I know what it cost to kick him out. I am so proud of the person you are growing into and becoming. And you gave yourself the freedom to do that the day you told him it was over.

I think that’s it. I think I need to stop writing now. So many emotions. Good and bad.

Looking forward to hearing from you.