Pink Pajamas

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.


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