This weekend has been busy; family, musicals, football, more and more family, (cue cigarettes) and ice skating (done by professionals, not me; I like my bones INTACT) and some important phone calls. This blog post is not recount the events of the weekend in detail (that will be later) it is to pour out a bit of emotion. On Sunday I took a break from familial mingling and went for a cigarette, taking the time to call back the officer in charge of my case who'd been trying to get hold of me. Long conversation short, he told me that the bastard is being charged. (I wont say anything more). My legs buckled and I had to grab the nearest bollard to stand. After he explained various things and details of what this meant, I zoned out a little. After speaking to him, I rang my father who was inside and asked him and mum to come outside. A bit confused, they did, and I told them what had transpired. Cue group hug and general on-the-brink-of-tears-ness. I cant really explain what I felt then...just felt a sense of numb relief I think. And now today, I got my blood test results back...the same sense of relief descended on me. If I'm honest, I dont know where my head is at at the minute. I'm 16 (nearly 17 :D) and I feel about 40 or something. I've been through a lot in the last 6 years, with the last 6 months being, quite frankly, horrific to get through. Thats not me be self pitying or shit like that, its the truth. People keep telling me that its a testament to my character that I'm still here despite it all, but the truth of that is that although yes, I'm here in a literal sense, as in, I havent killed myself yet, I dont always feel completely like I'm really...here. I was prescribed anti-depressants last week...I'm 16. "Depression is an illness". You can keep telling me that all you like, but that doesnt mean I'll be ok with it. I know that being diagnosed with a problem means that I can finally start addressing it, but its hard. I know that in some ways I've got it easy, that I'm not dying or anything...though in some ways, I think a part of me already died. Part of me has been dying, slowly but surely, for the past 6 years, perhaps actually longer. But another part of me, died that night. It died the night I had something stolen from me, something I'll never get back. No possession, no money, nothing material. More than that. Something that no one had a right to take. But I cant feel angry. I dont know why. I just cant get angry yet. Maybe theres a part of me that feels I deserved it or something, I dont know. Its a greiving process I guess, and Im just not at the angry stage yet.
Oh shit. I totally didnt mean this blog post to be what its turned out to be. Sorry. I'm too tired to make enough sense right now, but I have a lot I need to say. I will say it, just not now. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. We'll see.