I remember thinking that, every time I felt his arm around my neck. For a few seconds, anyway, He would squeeze it tight, very tight…. I’d panic. Kick my legs against his. Then darkness. Nothing. I don’t know for how long.
But then I’d be back there. Where? It could be very confusing at first. I remember twitching violently as the light came back on. I’d try to move, but he’d be right there and I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere. He’d give me a few seconds, maybe, then he’d do the same thing again and I would pass out. Then I would be back there. And then he’d grab me and do it again. Each time I’d get a little weaker. Eventually, I would stop struggling, and just wait…
Then he would let go of me. «I’m not going to die in this room. Not today, at least.»
………
This was a pretty frequent thing for more than 4 years of my life, until he died suddenly and unexpectedly. I actually loved this man, and grieved him when he passed. It’s been 10 years now, and I have a new fiancé and live a very different kind of life in my home country. I had honestly completely forgotten about this part of my life. All I remembered was the good stuff, and the grief I felt after his passing. I wanted my memory of him to be a pure and beautiful thing, so I guess I must have just cleaned it up right good and swore to myself I’d never speak of the rest. And it worked amazingly well, because it took a nosey psychologist and a magic mushroom trip to bring these memories back to the surface.
There is a lot more to this story, of course. Some of it involves weapons. Then there were the drugs. My God, the f*cking drugs. And dealing with dangerous situations involving his criminal «friends». Or the police. Or both. For not to mention the court system. Trying to get this guy bailed out of jail with no money, no car and no one to help me, just to mention one example. I had conveniently forgotten about all of this stuff long before I met my new boyfriend, because nobody around here wants to hear about any of that. I’m not a liar, I really did forget.Though somehow, it must have still been there… just beneath the surface.
I used to be into martial arts back in the day. Kickboxing mostly, some karate. I wasn’t awfully good at it, but I always liked it. Later on, I tried something called Krav Maga. It is an Israeli self defense system which combines techniques from many different martial arts and focuses on realistic scenarios. I completed the beginner’s course before I went to the US. But when I tried to go back to these classes, something had changed…
I couldn’t function anymore. I didn’t understand it, but whenever we’d do an exercise where you’d have to get someone off you, I just couldn’t do it. I’d freeze up and be unable to move. «Come on, don’t just give up», they’d yell at me. It didn’t help. I just couldn’t move. Eventually, I quit going there. I figured maybe I was just too old now. Most of the people there were younger than me. I felt utterly useless. It was so humiliating.
Now I’m wondering if this might have been a so-called trauma response? And maybe, if I get better, I’ll be able to go back and try again one day?
But then I’d be back there. Where? It could be very confusing at first. I remember twitching violently as the light came back on. I’d try to move, but he’d be right there and I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere. He’d give me a few seconds, maybe, then he’d do the same thing again and I would pass out. Then I would be back there. And then he’d grab me and do it again. Each time I’d get a little weaker. Eventually, I would stop struggling, and just wait…
Then he would let go of me. «I’m not going to die in this room. Not today, at least.»
………
This was a pretty frequent thing for more than 4 years of my life, until he died suddenly and unexpectedly. I actually loved this man, and grieved him when he passed. It’s been 10 years now, and I have a new fiancé and live a very different kind of life in my home country. I had honestly completely forgotten about this part of my life. All I remembered was the good stuff, and the grief I felt after his passing. I wanted my memory of him to be a pure and beautiful thing, so I guess I must have just cleaned it up right good and swore to myself I’d never speak of the rest. And it worked amazingly well, because it took a nosey psychologist and a magic mushroom trip to bring these memories back to the surface.
There is a lot more to this story, of course. Some of it involves weapons. Then there were the drugs. My God, the f*cking drugs. And dealing with dangerous situations involving his criminal «friends». Or the police. Or both. For not to mention the court system. Trying to get this guy bailed out of jail with no money, no car and no one to help me, just to mention one example. I had conveniently forgotten about all of this stuff long before I met my new boyfriend, because nobody around here wants to hear about any of that. I’m not a liar, I really did forget.Though somehow, it must have still been there… just beneath the surface.
I used to be into martial arts back in the day. Kickboxing mostly, some karate. I wasn’t awfully good at it, but I always liked it. Later on, I tried something called Krav Maga. It is an Israeli self defense system which combines techniques from many different martial arts and focuses on realistic scenarios. I completed the beginner’s course before I went to the US. But when I tried to go back to these classes, something had changed…
I couldn’t function anymore. I didn’t understand it, but whenever we’d do an exercise where you’d have to get someone off you, I just couldn’t do it. I’d freeze up and be unable to move. «Come on, don’t just give up», they’d yell at me. It didn’t help. I just couldn’t move. Eventually, I quit going there. I figured maybe I was just too old now. Most of the people there were younger than me. I felt utterly useless. It was so humiliating.
Now I’m wondering if this might have been a so-called trauma response? And maybe, if I get better, I’ll be able to go back and try again one day?
