When the moment arrives

Struggling to breathe. 

Have you ever had a time in your life where you feel the tension building, something is coming, you don't know what it is good or bad, but you know this is the moment you've been preparing for? 

Just broke down sobbing.

My mother texted me and asked if I would write about my impressions, experiences and observations of my grandmother's and aunt's mental illness. With only hazy recollections these were two of my abusers. I feel strongly there were many more, as I frequently have flashbacks and body sensations that are troubling and telling. I frequently allude to revealing my full experiences, and what this did to my life, but the terror of the aftermath stops me. Yet I know to the depths of me this needs to happen. It feels like the moment as arrived.

Of all the days to be asked...this is the anniversary of when I was raped. I so hate the universe's timing as it's so perfect and awful. It's a beautiful warm sunny day. I was cleaning and my home smells lovely and looks nice. I was about to take a walk in the sunshine and breathe deeply. I'd planned on yoga later. And now I'm alone suffocating. I feel nauseated. I'm typing through my tears.

Though interestingly I don't want to stuff this down. I don't have any desire to drink, eat, get high or distract this away. Taking big girl breaths and reminding myself I've survived what many couldn't and I'm needed to help those trying to find their way out. I'm standing on the edge of the cliff where I need to jump even if it means I crash and burn.

My mother knows a lot but doesn't know what it did to me. And as a mother this will hurt her. My brothers don't know. My cousins don't have a clue and this was their mother. This may shatter a lot of people. 

I don't hate them either. I know what each of their horrifying histories were and I know they acted out of trauma and mental illness. It's so hard as for so long I felt they were the only family members that liked and accepted me. And perhaps that feeling of being accepted led to me also being an ideal victim. 

I'm not the only one. So many of us have been terribly abused. Yet my 51 year old self just cry screamed, "Why me!?!?  Why did it have to be me?!?". I suppose all of us have screamed that to the darkness.

The moment has arrived and I'm taking it.