The effect of seeing someone who looks like my husband! 28/9/2021.

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'He' in this case, is a lecturer for my diploma course.

Saturday - It was the way that my body, before I'd become aware... it was automatic, without thinking. Suddenly we were both holding each other's hands!

He looks like my husband. 

He moves like him. 

He wore a belt bag - not like mine, but there was a similarity between us in our belief systems, in that he was like me! 

But personality wise, he is nothing like me. 

And he is totally himself. 

He is not Gavin.

But that moment of mutuality, of being in sync, it has left a mark, or a dent, or a rip - that without a second thought my body reacted - as if he was safe. 

And Gavin isn't a safe person. 

Gavin would not have held my hands. 

He would just have looked at me.

But, my body would react with trust, habitual trust.

And the mark, rip, tear in me and the nightmare I woke up with, and the ache and the tears?

I was dreaming Gavin was in bed beside me, and it was the same as it had been; my frustration, sense of terror and dread. The feeling was of a septicaemia, a slow internal rotting, of my guts ulcerated and necrotic, or poison. 

Echoing through my mind, Gavin's words of absolute dismissal.

My erasure...

And then college, a totally different style of therapy. What I learnt on Saturday was - always get a 'contract' - which was then discounted by my tutors who tell me in those 'expert' ways that asking someone what they want is unnecessary since we know they want to be happy. 

And we know what their happy is?

Well, I should know better than to be honest. 

Really, just keep my head down and do what I do. 

But, from now on - get that contract done! 

And then there is tomorrow, which is a 'Monday afternoon' on a Wednesday morning (counselling) re-booked because his tooth needed fixing. Right now I am coming up slightly from the post-college descent, but an hour ago...I'd had enough. 

Also, it really didn't help with my friend laughing about Kit putting up a barrier (mental) around himself to keep me away. 

It hurt because it is probably true. 

So, I am glad I made the recording last Thursday or Friday, the one in which I tell the story because perhaps I will never have the strength to do it again. 

Strength - doesn't make sense? 

Why will I lose strength, faith, trust, hope failing.

The clue is in the nightmare. 

My body reacting - instant forgetting, then memory resurfaces into grey morning light, bringing pain and necrosis. 

Without Kit I am without hope. And  I am shocked back into the truth of it - that I am on the meat hook in the darkest corner of hell. 

My serotonin source dried up. 

No calm. 

No comfort. 

No hope.

So basically I have to get this right - get tomorrow, each Monday afternoon - right. 

And right means?

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