I am in my body yet it’s as if I am being controlled from the outside.

I feel numb. Not a pins and needles kind-of-numb, but like an alcohol induced buzz kinda numb. I move, talk, and function as if I am human, but I feel far less than real. My chest rises and falls. Breathing is involuntary or I am not sure it would happen. My brain is foggy. Filling with information I have yet to fully process. By all accounts I feel dead, yet I continue to take in oxygen and that buzzed feeling begins to lift as I try to focus.

I am flat on my back. My cheek stings. I sense a presence near me and I barely make out a shadowy figure above me. I struggle to recall the moments before my mind was erased like a slate chalk board.

Where Am I?

My head aches like a train just entered through one ear and exited the other. Time floats above me and is no longer tangible. Am I dreaming? I try to move, but my body and head feel cemented to the rug beneath me. Another involuntary breath and I am made aware of the pain in my throat. A voice in my head asks, “Am I drunk?” I don’t recall drinking too much, but thats the first question that fills my head. Perhaps I blacked out.

The dark figure above me speaks.

I am immediately thrown into a vortex of reality as my brain begins to allow me access to the truth. Slowly I struggle to sit up, but am cautious of how I move. Fear washes over my rag doll body. I sense danger in the room but deny it’s as close to me as it really is. I refuse the truth flying like a banner legible enough to read from a hundred miles away. I squeeze my eyes shut. It hurts to swallow. My stomach feels like it may grow arms & legs and take the journey up through my esophagus to my larynx and out my mouth vomiting the truth. I swallow it back down because I am ashamed to see it.

There is a stranger in the room, but perhaps this person is someone I’ve met before I cannot put a finger on it. Tears come and the stinging hot pain on my face returns as they begin to roll down my cheek. The stranger hasn’t stopped speaking, but his words remain coated in a tunnel of steel and move in slow motion. It is barely audible.

I pull my knees close to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I rock back and forth trying to sooth the little girl inside that wishes her daddy would come rescue her from the darkness and the monsters that linger there. Shame, guilt, and remorse at some point attach themselves to my sides and help keep me company as I begin to process the minutes that produced the one I am now living in.

Words fill the cavity we call the brain. I hear them repeatedly like a CD that is stuck in a scratch where the laser cannot move across it’s surface.

What are you doing? What did you do? These questions repeatedly play. I question my sanity as if it was knocked loose on impact.


That’s IT!!! There was some sort of impact, only I do not recall what it was.


16 thoughts on “Blackout

  1. You are brave. You are eloquent even in your pain. You should share more. THere are others out there who are too afraid to speak out but by reading your words, they will know they aren’t alone.

    Keep up the good work.
    p.s. do you follow @bandback2gether?

    • Not to sound lame, but this took a lot of time to consider. I can only hope my words may be the light for someone and show them something beyond the shame they may be feeling. I am safe now. I have been for almost four years, but the pain still lives on inside of me and I am oddly reminded of the horrific roller coaster ride on which I lived for far too long. I appreciate all your tweets today and the amazing support you have shown me. I hope perhaps we will get the chance to meet one day. Thank you beyond words I am deeply touched.

  2. Wow. This is so powerful. I have no words but, I just wanted you to know that this is being read. Loud and clear. Thank you for opening yourself up in this way.

  3. I’m here via your friend, Erin Margolin 🙂

    My heart aches for you……I’m not 100% sure what happened but based on the tags you used for the post it appears it was a domestic violence assault.

    If that is indeed the case I hope it’s something that didn’t happen recently. If so, it’s going to take a bit of time to work through everything that your mind is trying to process.

    I *was* that woman for a number of years and the “road back” was anything but easy. In my case the only thing that kept me from crumpling up and withering away was my young son. I knew he needed me …so I had to force myself to go through the motions every day…for months and months. For what seemed to be forever.

    I’m not one to offer advice, as I tend to be a “listener”, but I’ll give you one thing to consider….reach out to those that love you….be vulnerable with them and allow them to support you….in whatever way you need the support.

    I’m sending hugs and love your way….

    • Michelle,

      Wow! What can I say… I contemplated publishing this for months. I even started a different blog, but couldn’t bring myself to write anything remotely like this over there. I am safe now although the painful memories still haunt even my dreams at times, but I am doing very well. I have a wonderful, kind, supportive new husband who is gentle and loving. I needed a place to write these things out because even he has a hard time hearing some of them. Therapy helps, but it’s not like writing.
      The “road back” for me was long, lonely, and filled with a lot of craziness. I have two sons, who luckily enough lived with their dad full time (not the abuser) and rarely saw the ugliness. My shame is that I kept choosing this life over and over. I even chose it over them at times. That is the core of why I write. Why I will tell my story. I am not a victim, but a survivor of some pretty poor choices, but I am strong. I have prevailed and I will share what I have learned.
      Hugs to you and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for stopping by, for sharing, and for your support.

  4. Amazing storytelling. Raw, vivid, thoroughly gripping and descriptive. I’m so sorry for the pain and anguish you’re writing about here. I can only imagine the physical kind of abuse, though I’ve suffered other sorts myself, and the attachments of shame and guilt come along with that as well. Hurting with you, and hoping that the telling brings you some cleansing, and the comments give you courage and validation. Listening as you tell your stories.

    • Jenna,
      I am really touched by the outpouring of support. These replies don’t seem to do justice just how honored I am that people are reaching out and sharing with me also. I used to say I could be hit a thousand times and it would NEVER compare to the shame & worthlessness I felt by all the mental abuse. That seems harder to overcome long after bruises fade, but I am doing better. Thank you for sharing with me and helping me to feel safe. Fasten your seatbelt if you’re here to read more, its gonna be a wild bumpy ride.

  5. This is such a brave, raw post. Thank you so much for sharing your story and words and heart here. I’m listening.

  6. Reading with anguish for who you were. I’m so glad you’re safe now, and if writing helps, keep writing.

    Have you heard of the site Violence Unsilenced? I follow them and read their stories. Sharing is powerful. You would be welcomed with open arms.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s