Yes, again. It’s in my dreams. It’s in the back of my mind during the day. I can feel what is being done, but I can see who. It’s like I have blinders on. I don’t think I literally had a blindfold on, that wasn’t any of my abusers’ MO. I don’t know why I have this thing about knowing who it was.
It’s like hovering over my body, but I can’t see the surroundings. I have no sense of scale. I can’t tell how old I am.
This is eating at me. I’ve tried the old trick of putting it in a box, but that’s never worked for me.
My panic levels are going up. I’m going to take my night meds and read some Patricia Cornwell. Nothing like a good murder mystery to help you relax.