Grieving Time
By: Not A Victim
Tags: Survivor, Domestic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Time, Sexual Assault

Photo by MK Hamilton on Unsplash

I’ve struggled to write lately, I’ve struggled to find the time. I have a new job with a lot of commuting involved, I volunteer and ‘tired’ is now my permanent state of being. It’s worth it because in all of these things I’ve undertaken, and all of the changes that I’ve made; I am able to help people.

This lack of time has gotten me thinking.

Over half of the time that I’ve spent on Earth so far has been spent being abused by men who felt entitled to take whatever they wanted. Who saw me as a second-class citizen, an object, a possession. Over half of my time has been incredibly painful, and filled with difficulties. Of course, there were good times too. Sprinkled in like confetti; hundreds and thousands, you might say (I’ll see myself out).

I do remember those, I won’t pretend that every minute of every day was bad, but it’s hard to think about the good times when you know that fear and pain came before, and after. This is something which I will battle with for the rest of my life, something which will never go away, but something which I have come to accept to the best of my abilities. No one is perfect, I am still angry and whilst there is an element of understanding in me, there is little forgiveness, but I have come to terms with it and I continue to come to terms with it as best I can.

The one thing I have struggled to come to terms with, however, is the sheer amount of time that I have lost, or more accurately, had stolen.

It’s a strange thing, to mourn the loss of something so intangible as time. It’s a sad thing, to realise that some of what should have been amazing years, and key in my development, have all blurred into a long, foggy, black night. I can only describe looking back on these years as the kind of fear you hope for — but never find — when you watch a horror film. The kind of sweaty-palm, heart-racing, adrenaline-spiking terror that you want to experience when you watch that promising new horror film that everyone is talking about, the exact kind of fear that you don’t want when you go home at night.

It’s a loss that’s hard to describe. It’s not a family member, a friend, a pet. It’s not living or breathing. It doesn’t keep me warm at night, or give me a safe space to rest my head. It’s not a jewel, a valuable that you can lock away. I can’t touch it, or stroke it, or smell it. I could never even feel it when it was there, but I feel the absence now. Although the locks in my house remain in tact, and everything is in it’s place, I have been burgled. Two men decided to sneak into my life in the middle of the night and steal my most prized and irreplaceable possession. They were such highly-skilled thieves, that even in broad daylight, I didn’t notice them taking it away.

It’s not love, happiness, dignity, confidence or self-esteem. I lost those too, but I clawed them back — and then some.

I had time, and then it was taken. Years of my life were stolen. Time doesn’t care how it’s used, or who uses it. The time that I have now is filled with good people, and with doing good things. But as I get a little older, I realise how quickly it passes, and how much there is to do and see in the little enough time that we have.

Time is both cruel and kind. So much of my time has been difficult, yet I’m lucky enough that I have plenty more of it ahead of me (she says, hopefully). Time may well fly when you’re having fun, but it fucking disappears when you’re not.

As much as I mourn it, I am angry at it. I am angry at time for going so fast. I am angry at time for not stopping until I was ready to use it, until I had the chance to utilise it, until I as safe to engage with it as I was meant to. I am angry that there are no refunds on missed time, no sales to be extended, no injury time to be added on. I am angry at the time-thieves. I am angry at myself for not holding onto every precious second.

There’s no service, no grave to visit, no headstone to put flowers on, no ashes to be scattered for the years that survivors of abuse have lost.

And the loss, for most of us, is one that never ends. We may lose time in flashbacks, in nightmares, in the questions that people ask and the explanations that they expect. We lose time listening to the hurtful comments, the well-meaning comments that we’ve heard a thousand times before, the why-did-you-stay’s, the he’d-never-hurt-a-fly’s and the he-must-have-just-snapped’s.

We can only hope that we begin to learn from this, that we eventually will know better than to waste our time on things that don’t matter, that we’ll know better than to allow people who don’t deserve a second of our precious time to share in it.

I know now that time is not a right, that it’s not guaranteed. Time is a privilege that not everyone is lucky enough to have. Time stops for no one, for nothing. So as much as I miss her, and I want her back, instead of dressing in black and crying as I sometimes want to, I know that the best way to grieve her is to hold her close, so that no one can ever take her from me again.

Resources —

Domestic Abuse Helpline — Tel: 0808 2000 247 or visit the website: Home | Refuge National Domestic Abuse Helpline (nationaldahelpline.org.uk)

Women’s Aid — Home — Women’s Aid (womensaid.org.uk)

Links to other organisations — Useful links — Womens Aid

As always, if you are in immediate danger dial 999.