I have 5 hours more to go. And then it will be really over. It's been a quiet day today, although I'm not sure that that has helped. I have gone over a lot of my writings during the 8th year ago. 8 years ago today I was reeling in shock. And I was acting so sensibly as if I'd just had fallen (as usual) and grazed my knee a little bit. Or as if I just had a mild headache. Or perhaps as if I were nursing a cold. Or perhaps again as if I'd just had had my foot amputated. Amputation meant nothing back then in comparison. The truth was I'd had my heart ripped, my brain smashed, and my very existence taken apart with a bomb. And at that moment, I just plodded on as if nothing happened. I just wasn't ready to face what I had seen. Very few people see what I have, and I'm glad. I wish nobody would see it anymore because it rocks you to the core. And I thought my life was in pieces, which it was. But I thought life would never be the same again, which it hasn't. It's ok now, not the same, but still ok although very different. And although I had always dutifully payed my taxes, there was no help for me. There must have been every kind of help, except for me. There still is every kind of help except for people like me. It's the reason why I get so sad when I hear about something like that. And people can be so insensitively morbid that they actually smile.
So there was I, a broken person screaming for help inside. A broken little girl who suddenly became very frightened and would retire to the corner with a cushion instead of a teddy; still a frightened little girl nonetheless. And I'd surf the Internet for help. And it's a good thing I did, because out there were people like me. Victims of a horrible thing, but victims turned survivors. And they said I would smile again, laugh again, which seemed mad. There was no way laughter would ever be part of my normal everyday life, because back then my life didn't look as if it were about to return to normal any day soon. I called 179, and I could feel their sympathy together with their helplessness. I was so at my wit's end that I even turned to priests who were as unhelpful as they could get, shame on them. I turned to books, it was also useless. I went to psychologists who got afraid of me, I did the tour-de-shrinks who seemed to know nothing, they said I was ok, I didn't need help, I was so eloquent, I would make it. As if that helped. I knew I was never sick in the mind, I just wanted someone to hold my hand and say it was so normal. So I turned back to the Internet, and surfed and browsed. And since it was made clear that I was on my own, I did the only thing which I could do. I starting writing, writing and writing. And I think I wrote volumes by all the stuff in my computer. And I have read them again and now see hope coming in a little bit each day, although back then it was all so black. But I needed to talk, even if it were to myself. I needed to talk, talk, talk to get close to acceptance and let the healing start. And I was so angry, at God, at the system, at the whole blue marble. And I cried, cried, cried, I cried so much that my eyes finally hurt and there were no more tears. There is such a physical state where your eyes sting a lot and the tear-tank is exhausted. And finally came acceptance and I started making baby steps toward the road to recovery. Do not feel sorry for me, I have felt sorry enough. Do not be afraid, I did nothing wrong except walk onto something horrific. But the people on the Internet said I would smile again. And although I thought they were mad, I really have smiled again, a million smiles, a million laughs. The past is the past and it will always be with me, but I chose not to drown myself and stall, I chose to bounce back to life. I worked my butt off (even if it doesn't seem like it), but I did, and today I smile again. Real smiles.
So there was I, a broken person screaming for help inside. A broken little girl who suddenly became very frightened and would retire to the corner with a cushion instead of a teddy; still a frightened little girl nonetheless. And I'd surf the Internet for help. And it's a good thing I did, because out there were people like me. Victims of a horrible thing, but victims turned survivors. And they said I would smile again, laugh again, which seemed mad. There was no way laughter would ever be part of my normal everyday life, because back then my life didn't look as if it were about to return to normal any day soon. I called 179, and I could feel their sympathy together with their helplessness. I was so at my wit's end that I even turned to priests who were as unhelpful as they could get, shame on them. I turned to books, it was also useless. I went to psychologists who got afraid of me, I did the tour-de-shrinks who seemed to know nothing, they said I was ok, I didn't need help, I was so eloquent, I would make it. As if that helped. I knew I was never sick in the mind, I just wanted someone to hold my hand and say it was so normal. So I turned back to the Internet, and surfed and browsed. And since it was made clear that I was on my own, I did the only thing which I could do. I starting writing, writing and writing. And I think I wrote volumes by all the stuff in my computer. And I have read them again and now see hope coming in a little bit each day, although back then it was all so black. But I needed to talk, even if it were to myself. I needed to talk, talk, talk to get close to acceptance and let the healing start. And I was so angry, at God, at the system, at the whole blue marble. And I cried, cried, cried, I cried so much that my eyes finally hurt and there were no more tears. There is such a physical state where your eyes sting a lot and the tear-tank is exhausted. And finally came acceptance and I started making baby steps toward the road to recovery. Do not feel sorry for me, I have felt sorry enough. Do not be afraid, I did nothing wrong except walk onto something horrific. But the people on the Internet said I would smile again. And although I thought they were mad, I really have smiled again, a million smiles, a million laughs. The past is the past and it will always be with me, but I chose not to drown myself and stall, I chose to bounce back to life. I worked my butt off (even if it doesn't seem like it), but I did, and today I smile again. Real smiles.
