I never said 'Yes'

I'm B. That isn't my full name, but that's all you need to know for now. Right now, this page provides a safeguard; the anonymity of the internet. I'm safe behind the screen of my laptop, and here I am able to finally be myself. I can type these letters on the keyboard, they appear magically on the screen and no-one needs to see the emotion that comes with it. Words come easier this way, words that may not be able to ordinarily escape the tip of my tongue because they are choked back by the presence of tears.

Anyway, I digress. I'm B. I'm newly single after my relationship of seven years broke down and my ex-fiancee ended things. Sure, we had our problems here and there, every couple does. It would be extremely unusual to meet a couple that doesn't argue. Our real problems, however, are centered around myself. Not through something I had done or caused, or so I am told... rather, something that happened to me when I was younger. Much younger. 

My relationship with my ex, we'll call her O, was fantastic for the first five years. No problems, whatsoever. We hardly ever fought, we hardly ever disagreed. It was bliss. We were engaged, planning our wedding, and eventually we would go on to try for a baby. In October 2011, I began to have flashbacks. Vivid and very real flashbacks that would stop me from sleeping, eating certain foods, going to certain places and would even interrupt me doing menial tasks such as brushing my teeth. Panic attacks became a regular occurance, and my levels of anxiety shot through the roof. The doctors put me on a mood inhibitor and anti-depressant called Citalopram, and for months I felt numb. I didn't speak, stopped eating, and spent most of my days in tears. Friends told me I was acting like a zombie - there, but not, you know? 

I began therapy in January 2012, with a lady based in the center of the city I live in. I had about 12 sessions with her, but every time I would talk to her, I felt as though I was bothering her. Either that, or she didn't believe me. Which was painful, and upsetting because I didn't know what to do with the information I had been 'given'. Though, I see it more as they were thrust upon me. My brain was 'drip feeding' me memories, the therapist said. When my brain felt I was ready to handle them, was when I would get another flashback, another memory, another nightmare. Gee, thanks, brain. A+ for you with that decision.

I am never ready to 'receive' these memories. As each new one comes, I recoil into myself, and have to re-evaluate everything once again. It makes this recovery process a lot harder, and it is only through the help of my newest therapist that I am even writing this blog. I have always written, part of my degree is in creative writing. I find it very cathartic (hence the username), and I'm hoping this place will become a real source of relief. And I hope that the content of this blog won't offend some of you, although, if it does, I have to tell you to stop reading it. This isn't going to be pretty, and it isn't going to be an easy read - or an easy write for that matter. That being said, the following image really says it all.