Where have I been?

In my head. In my past. In my memories. In my flashbacks. In my physical sensations. In my desperated attempts to block it all out just for a while.

I have always been a processor, a thinker, an anilyticol type of girl, someone who thinks, evaluates and reads, reads, reads to try and work things out, to understand, to try and shed some light on whatever it is I'm dealing with right then.

So the fact that I'm doing a group therapy course for 12 weeks this summer, means 90% of my mind is constantly processing and thinking about what happened to me, the consequences and my sisters.

Everywhere I turn I see something, read something, that reminds me, upsets me, stirs me up, jogs a memory, prevokes a flashback, triggers a panic attack.

I can't be a very easy person to live with right now. My poor husband.

The last couple of weeks have been particularly hard, as I have been preparing to talk about what happened to me in the group.

My individual worker strongly suggested I should start to write my memories down. I didn't think I'd be able to, but having started, I don't seem able to stop. I can remember a lot more than I thought I could, now that I can hold the memories on paper, rather than in the jungle of my head.

I can't write anymore right now, but I will again soon - I really will. Thank you for your patience and thank you for listening.