It happened a few weeks ago. I didn’t tell anyone apart from one dear friend (and then i didn’t say much). But she encouraged me to phone someone. I thought, it had to be someone who would just listen; so i picked up the phone, my heart thumping in my chest, and phoned The Samaritans, thinking, ‘Would they believe me?’, ‘Would they have any understanding of mental health?’, ‘Did they need to?’, ‘Was i crazy?’, ‘Was it my fault….again?’, ‘Would they believe me?’, ‘Would they believe me?’, ‘Would they believe me?’, ‘Would they believe me?’. And all in the space between dialling the number and a soft female voice answering with the words, “This is The Samaritans, can i help you?”. I didn’t reply immediately. Then i said quite calmly, “I need to talk to someone”.
I’d met him once, briefly. He seemed pleasant enough. He was a friend of my ex-carer’s boyfriend. my-carer knew that as well as being disabled, i also had Borderline Personality Disorder. He said he’d brought a book over, “Voices Beyond The Border’, a compilation of poetry written by BPD sufferers. I was immediately interested and said he could pop in for a minute. He did, closing the wooden front door behind him. And then, before i even had time to say ‘how are you?’, he’d grabbed hold of me, one arm behind my back, and one hand over my mouth. He marched me into the living room, saying, “You’d better be nice to me”! I wanted to scream but all that came out was a muffled sound. My body froze as my mind went into overdrive and sheer panic. I knew; i just knew, what was going to happen’; Action replays from the past flashed past my eyes. “NO, NO, NO, NOT AGAIN, PLEASE NO, NOT AGAIN”!
I’m sorry, my friends; i thought i could do this. I thought i could get it out. I can’t; i can’t go there yet; i just can’t; i’m sorry.