Cute Boy Person came back to town this week. We went out for dinner on Wednesday. We talked about what he did on his vacation, how my health is doing, and how well I'm dealing with the emotional side effects of my health, which could definitely be better. When I dropped him off at his place, we sat in the car for a few minutes to plan to do something this weekend. Little did I know that he had a cunning plan. After determining that I was available on Saturday, he said "OK great. I'm coming over to your house to help you clean."
My apartment is a mess. It's been a mess for a while. Between my health and being exhausted when I have a job and being depressed without one, my place is in a hell of a state. It's been like that for a long time. At one point, I hired someone to come over and help me clean it. Instead, he repeatedly sexually assaulted me. When Cute Boy Person said he was coming over to help me clean, I panicked. I knew he meant well. I knew I needed help with this. I knew it was a good plan. I knew he wasn't going to come in here and be creepy. But my brain went: I'd be mortified if it was anyone; it's worse that it's a cute guy; I haven't let anyone into my place since the last time someone came to help. I agreed because I knew it was the right thing but my brain went:
I told him I'm going to be mortified and he said "I know. It's been done to me. I've been wanting to do this for a while." I kept panicking when I got home. I haven't really dealt with what happened. I packed it away neatly in a box and threw a bunch of crap on it so it couldn't get out. Eventually, I started pointing to the box but I didn't open the box. I didn't look inside; I didn't do anything except point to the label on the box. But now the contents of the box had started kicking.
I've been having trouble sleeping since then. I go to bed and I wonder how I can put this off even though I know I shouldn't. And the kicking inside my brain. Some of what that guy did, if I liked him and trusted him and wanted to fool around with him, it still would have been creepy. Kick.
Tonight, Cute Boy Person texted me, asked how I am doing and what I did today. I didn't want to tell him that I was awake half the night in pain and panicked and trying to figure out if I should switch from pain pills to anxiety pills. I told him I was full of histamine and brain fog all day. He said he didn't get much done either and he's coming over tomorrow. I said I know and I'm mortified and panicky in advance, and then I feel bad for being panicky.
He said we would both feel better when my apartment isn't stressing me out because of the mess. I told him that the panicking wasn't his fault, that it wasn't about him, that I haven't dealt with the fallout of the last time, that I just put it in a box and left it in the corner. I said I haven't had anyone in here since the sexual assault. As I was typing to him that I knew he wouldn't do that, but that situationally it was so similar that it's bringing up badness, I got a text "Not going to happen."
I kept explaining: it isn't him; it isn't him; it isn't him. I know it must seem like I suspect him and then I feel bad because I don't. I really don't. He said "I understand" but I just kept typing. I said it was just bringing up so many bad memories and he said "Well, time to make some new ones."
So I told him that I would probably need alone time breaks to calm down and told him how to avoid freaking me out. Then I told him that it's much more mortifying that a cute boy is coming to help. While I was typing he was trying to change the subject so I would stop panic typing. He asked what I'm up to tonight. Then he sent me a smiley cause I called him a cute boy.
I told him that I was watching a spooky Mexican cartoon with subtitles because spooky cartoons are soothing. Apparently, that makes me weird. I said "Oh and I have to hide the porn." "Oh noes! Put that away! Gross! ;)"
I'm still hiding the porn.