This might ramble a bit, but I need to get it out ...

I have been in recovery from CSA, and other childhood trauma, for about ten years. My conditions nearly killed me more than once, by my own hand. In my moments of greatest despair, the moments closest to my own destruction, it was my daughter who kept me alive, though she does not know that. My desire not to hurt her with my own death is all that kept me alive. If I had to guess why, I would say part of it is the innate love of a parent to a child, and the other part knowing how much the death of my own mother when I was a child hurt me.

Recently, I fell in love, or at least as close as I have ever been romantically -- don't have much to compare it to frankly. But it felt right. Really right. Wonderful. Together, time stood still. Until ... my love's former, abusive, jealous paramour found out, and returned, and began to invade our lives and my life, determined to drive me away. It was very confrontational and escalating very quickly, by the hour sometimes. It triggered my PTSD very badly. So I withdrew, hard and fast. And I left my new love to fend without me.

I did this because I could not be both true to my new love and true to my own mental health. I need to control and maintain serenity in my life as much as possible. I noticed first that the spiraling back into the despair, fear, trembling, horror of PTSD was hurting -- crushing -- my ability to be present for my young daughter, to give to that relationship in a loving and complete way. I was again, for the first time in years, physically but not at all emotionally present. My love for my child was more important to me than the romantic love I have waited for my whole life and felt just within reach. I have not been, I do not believe, even able to embrace true romantic love until recently.

So there was true, romantic love, right in front of me, for the first time, only to be taken away by an abuser who would not let go. It was only going to get worse for me if I stayed, I know that.

Tragic irony, on one hand, that the impact of another abuser in my life would once again be so profound and so cruel. I wanted to fight back, not to allow another abuser to win anything in my life. But on some level I knew that I could only survive by walking away, and my life with my daughter could only survive if I made that choice.

I abandoned someone, someone I love, someone who needs help.

But, my love for my child has won, as it should have. I believe I had to take care of that first and always -- I have no doubt about that.

But I hate what has happened. I hate the choice I had to make. I don't regret it. I just regret that life can be like this, again. And I hate feeling this alone, especially knowing that on the other end of the phone calls I ignore is someone I truly love, who I left in tears.

Thanks for listening.

mtd