I’ve been attending a poetry group recently through Mind. I don’t claim to be any good, but I have often written poetry when life has been tough, and this has come at a good time for me with so many emotions floating around since the assault. I have struggled the last week with hypomania and hypersexuality which is always dangerous. It’s how I came to be in such a toxic relationship in the first place, that ultimately ended in such devastation. I am still so drawn to him, it’s like an addiction. I have fought myself every evening not to go and track him down, not because I’m angry with him, oh no, that would be much too sensible. No, my hypomanic self is set on getting him back. Despite the fact he never really wanted me before, and I imagine even less so after being picked up by the Old Bill. So in (another) attempt to distract, whilst maybe giving those overwhelmingly strong urges some voice, I wrote this.

Aftermath

The scent of us hung in the air there,

The bed still messy, unmade,

And I stand aghast, unbelieving,

Still in shock and totally dismayed.

Hours before I was jubilant,

The man that I loved was here!

Despite his protestations and denials,

He’d still succumbed to my wiles.

Every nerve in my body a-tingling,

All my inmost desires cried out,

Yet now I stand here in the aftermath,

Wond’ring, what was all that about?

How the man I was desperate to be with,

Could leave me so damaged and raw,

Wond’ring what the hell made him like that? 

And what the hell I did so wrong.

As my flesh burnt with pain, torn and battered,

And my heart broke all over again,

I crawled back beneath those covers,

And hid my face with the shame.
The physical pain is all done now,

It’s true that time heals – in some ways,

Yet my head and my heart remain broken,

As I struggle through day after day.

The worst thing is how I still love him,

Despite all the pain and the shame,

And I know I’d move Heaven to be with him,

If only he’d want me again.

Thanks for reading 👼🏼