Who Am I When I No Longer Identify as a Victim of My Abuser?
Finding yourself after abuse and trauma
Time is always passing in a weird way. It’s the most constant thing we have in our lives yet it’s the most uncertain and the less measurable, regardless of the availabilities of clocks, calendars and 5-year plans. When you want it to pass quickly, it seems to slow down to the point of insanity; other times, you wish it stopped or slowed down yet it disappears like sand between your fingers, dripping away second after second.
I used to be in love — that crazy, all-consuming, insane love that you know from movies and literature. The kind that stops time for long instances. The kind that makes days go by in a split second. The one that makes your heart skip several beats, leading you to a near-death-and-not-real-life experience while you are alive and breathing someone else’s breath in. I lived off his breath, his life was flowing through my veins and my thoughts were all his. It was stupid. But it was beautifully frightening.
At the time, I never had enough time. We never had. It always felt like no matter how much time we spent together that there are not enough minutes in the whole existence that could make me feel satiated. It was never enough. Time stopped only for milliseconds and then it was running away, leaving me…
