I have an Image

*** Trigger warning - I wouldn't read on if I was you***

Last night I woke up about 2am with a nightmare. This is not an unusual occurrence. What was different this time was that the electricity was off. I ran down the stairs, tried to look in the electric box to see what the problem was and ran back up the stair to my bed when I couldn't see it. I sat upright in my bed shaking with fear until it got light enough for me to see that I had just run out of electricity. A quick visit to the local garage to purchase some more led to me being able to see again. I am absolutely totally and utterly terrified of the dark.

I phoned in sick to work - how could I possibly go to work after such a terrifying night. My heart was still racing and my body was exhausted with the hours of tenseness. I went to mass instead and it hurt that I couldn't receive communion. Really hurt.

I went to the serial killers this evening. We talked about a lot of things but mainly about how I switch so quickly from believing that I was a vulnerable abused child to believing that I was utterly evil and a slag. At one point I said, 'I have an image...' then shut up. She responded with, 'you almost said something spontaneous there.' to which I replied, 'it's a dangerous thing.'

But then I decided to tell her the image. The image that I woke up to at 2 this morning. One of the images that haunt my nights:

I see a young girl, four or five years old, kneeling naked on the bedroom floor. She has long hair hanging down over her face. She is shaking. She has blood and sticky stuff between her thighs. She is hurting. Hurting inside from being invaded. Hurting outside from being beaten. A man stands behind her striding back and forth. Evertime she senses his approach she cowers a little. She is praying. Praying to the God she half believes is the man striding behind her. She is begging God for forgiveness, knowing that if she prays badly she will be hit by the God/man behind her. She is terrified. She stutters the words out just loud enough for the God/man to hear her.

She is little, broken, innocent and scared. She is a victim. She is vulnerable. Her vulnerability makes me cry. But the other half of my head screams that she is evil and a slag. The other half cannot forgive her for being involved in this.

And so it bounces back and forth between positions ad nauseum. No wonder I'm fucked up - I believe two opposing things at the same time. To quote the serial killer - it's problematic.