6.05 am.  

I know I won’t sleep again tonight.

I had a nightmare….then woke and realised it was the truth. 

Those ‘nightmares’ were memories from my past.

New ones.

I know they’re true.

I know they happened.

It makes sense of a couple of major things that were previously uncertain.

So this nightmare was both bad and good news for the girly trying to piece together her once dissociated and repressed story.

That’s why I can’t get back to sleep.

Truth can be scarier than dreams.

When truth intrudes it leaves us breathless.

What is worse than scary shit in a dream that you realise actually happened?

Scary shit inflicted by sick abusers who shared your home and bed and surname.

I don’t want to sleep.

I don’t want to remember anything more tonight. This is enough.

I’m busy figuring out what to do with this new influx of knowledge.

Weird that I often remember stuff and have my psychologically toughest times leading up to and during my period.

Or is it? 

Brain working away figuring stuff out.

Coming to clever conclusions.

I’m an intelligent lady.

No longer the confused girl.

More and more clarity shines out.

Clarity of who they were and what exactly they did.

The brainwashing has broken down now completely. 

I take my rightful place as controller of my own destiny.

I control through remembering and then communicating what I remember, but what and how much is up to me.

The contents of tonight’s dreams won’t be blogged about…I’ll do something better than that.

Keep em guessing.

There’s nothing more daunting than a SRA victim who knows more than she lets on….more than she blogs about…with plans she thinks of but refuses to share.

I have regained control through people who want to take me down not knowing the full extent of my SRA knowledge and memories. My plans go unblogged about too. How do they know anything I say is real? Maybe it’s all designed to put them off the scent. Maybe it’s now me playing mind games with them. 

Boots can be put on other foots.

We swap shoes with each other. Then we know how best to hurt each other. This isn’t a one way street.

Readers won’t probably understand this post…that’s OK. 

I don’t blog to be understood. I blog to get myself out of the tangle of BPD and Complex-PTSD.

Luckily I understand the tangle. I understand it all more than I let on. And I share a lot but also keep a lot back. What is scarier than that?

The nightmare? Or the decisions made by the victim on the basis of those memories she just remembered? 

I think I know the answer.

Nightmares that represent the truth and solve puzzles are not a waste of sweat.

I don’t expect anyone to understand.

But I understand.

I have full control through my understanding.

I also have balls.

How delightful is that.

Understanding + balls = a summerSHINERY blogger who knows she’ll shine. I have my nightmare to thank for that.