It hurt, it really hurt to leave them, but I had to, one thing is to think how useless you are another is to think that you should die. And I did, for a moment I thought about killing myself.
Everything just became too much.
It's been a week, one week since I left them and one week since I'm in this psychiatric hospital, when I said that I would seek help I meant it. It isn't easy, now on top of everything the guilt of leaving them it's eating me alive.
But I'm not just doing this for me.
It's for them too, I don't want them to feel bad for me, I don't want them to feel like they have to watch me because I might flip if someone touches me, or anything.
Before leaving the house that night, I went to my old room and it was exactly the same, all of those clothes I had bought with Niccolo were still there with the tags, I filled a backpack with some clothes, I found some of my documents and left.
I did leave a letter, but I don't know how they reacted. Sooner or later I will be back but as I wrote to them I need to do this by myself. Inside these walls things aren't easy, food isn't the best but at the same time I know I'm not the only one with a traumatic experience.
People here won't walk on eggshells around me, I know that they were being thoughtful of me and I do appreciate it but what do they know about being raped? About having your baby practically ripped of your belly.
"So Julianna, what's on your mind today?" My therapist asked. He was an old man, almost sixty years old with glasses on the tip of his nose. Nice man and so far he doesn't walk around the bush, he says the thing as they are and pushes me to speak but in the way, I don't feel obligated to talk.
Don't make sense, but it works.
"Where do I start?"
"Close your eyes." He said and I did.
"Now, name the feeling that is more intense."
"Guilt." I said immediately.
"Why?"
"I feel guilty for letting the people I love behind, but when I think about it I know that even though they didn't understand what I feel, they wanted to help but I couldn't let them, because sometimes I think that I can't be helped, I can't be what I used to be."
"What did you used to be?" He asked.
"I was fearless, dominating, stubborn, confident. Happy."
"What are you now?"
"Scared, insecure, broken, ugly, disgusting, sad."
"And why is that? Why are you all of those things?"
"Because he broke me, he used me, mutilated me, my body."
"Your file says that you were a general doctor, is that right?" He asked and looked down to the papers in his hands.
"Yes."
"So you had to study a bit of everything in college, including mental health?"
"Yes, I had a few classes."
"Let's change the point of view then. Lay down, close your eyes." He said and I laid down on the black leather couch.
"Imagine you are at the hospital, a girl was kidnapped, raped, verbally abused, and mutilated, just like you, and she needs treatment. If that girl was in front of you and was saying exactly the same things you did to me, what would you say?" He asked. I took a deep breath and thought about it.
"I would say that this was not her fault, she didn't do this to herself, she couldn't control what was happening."
"That's right, just like you couldn't. As always I will tell you things as it is, it might not be very professional." He said, I opened my eyes and sat up looking at him.
"You are young, you have people that love you, you are not alone. It happened, it was not your fault, and you couldn't control it. It was awful? Definitely. But you survived, you are alive and with a beautiful daughter. What you can control now is the way you face it, you will never forget it, if the memories inside your head won't remember you the scars on your skin will, what you can do is accept it. What was the kidnapper's name?" He asked, he knows very well what his name was but he ask me anyway.
"Marcello."
"Marcello while was alive kept you away from your family, just because we could and wanted, he's dead now and keeping you away from the people you love. You know what that means?"
"No."
"He's still winning."
And with that our appointment was over.
He's right I know that he is. He doesn't give me metaphoric crap to think about, he gives me facts.
I am alive.
I have people that love me and a daughter.
Marcello is dead.
It happenED.
But Marcello is still winning.
Dr. Santos tells me things as they are. He's also right when he says this is not very professional, I didn't have a lot of classes about this matter but I'm sure your therapist isn't supposed to be this straightforward.
I need time, like he said I need to accept it and realized that it's in the past. I walked to my room and took the picture I took from the house before leaving.
It's Niccolo and Andrea side to side, smiling at the camera, I don't have any of my baby girl, but when I look at Niccolo's eyes I see her in them.
Maybe I should just call them and say that I'm in a hospital, but then they would want to come here, if I don't tell them where I am, I know that they will trace me through the phone number or even check every hospital in America.
No, I won't call.
I will accept it.
I will understand my feelings.
Get better and I will get back.
I just need a little more time.
I have a long way in front of me but I will do everything to get better, I will do anything to be in my daughter's life. Maybe I can't go back to the way I used to be, but maybe I can be someone new.
Someone better.
A/N: This is a book and I don't think that this is the way a doctor would talk about this. But I don't know how it's done, I also never knew someone who went through this, so just go with it, please.
I do not mean to hurt anyone, and I think that I didn't say anything wrong, but if this is in some way offensive, I will rewrite it.