Alone in the Dark

Editor’s Note: To understand NAOMI’s mission, one must first understand the pain experienced by women who seek us out. The following is the first in a series compiled by Community Director Sara Cardwell from the words and stories of women in the community.

I’m lying quietly in the dark of the early morning. Before I even open my eyes, the memory of what happened yesterday washes over me. I see myself doing that same thing that I can never seem to get away from.

That thing comes so easily when I don’t know what else to do. It makes everything seem okay… even if it’s just for a moment. I get to forget what has happened to me and make the unknown stop.

What will today bring? I quickly get out of bed before the answer comes and ignore the heaviness of my body as I push forward into the day.

Things move quickly and slowly all at once. I struggle to focus on what I have to do, but I keep going anyway.  I tell myself there isn’t time to slow down. If I stop, I will fall apart just like I always do. 

I know I’m failing because I can never seem to make things work. I’m constantly trying to do the next thing, to keep going, hoping that something, anything, might get better. 

As I go about my day, something suddenly happens that squeezes the pain to the surface. All at once I’m like a bucket of water sloshing all over and soaking anyone that comes near.

When I’m in this place of overflowing, my emotions spill out. I can’t contain the things that have happened to me or my desperate need to feel okay. It feels as though I’m drowning in my own body and mind. I try to find a way to feel better. Nothing works; it only distracts me for a little bit before I feel the deep ache inside again. 

I want someone to tell me what to do to make the pain go away. There are those that tell me what I should do to clean up my mess, but no one can bear to be with me when I try to acknowledge the pain. 

Sometimes I wish everyone would leave me alone, but I also can’t stand being by myself. That’s why even when they hurt me, I put up with it and drown myself in helping everyone around me — saying yes to anything they ask even if I don’t want to. 

At least I know how things work with them; I know what to do to keep them happy and not leave me. I know how to play my part. 

I go and go until I’m completely drained. All of this striving still doesn’t stop the ache I carry; but it helps me ignore it.

When enough of the day is done, I collapse, back in bed. There is a pain all over my body that I can’t name. I can’t stop thinking, my head feels so full as though it might burst. 

The thing that gives me comfort suddenly comes to mind. A rush goes up my spine. I want to do it. I almost have to do it. I panic at this pull that is so strong inside me. 

I quickly search for something to worry about. I become consumed by my distraction and agonize over every detail as I try to find a way to fix it. 

I don’t want to be this way anymore, but I don’t know what else to do, and everyone I know is the same, even when they pretend not to be. 

I just want to be free from this endless pain. I’m willing to do anything but can’t find the way forward, and what I do know works against me. I roll these thoughts around until I finally sleep from exhaustion. 

Alone once again in the dark.

Come back for the rest of the series: Seen, Soothed and Thriving.