Trigger waring. I’m in a horribly messy place, and I have debated about writing it here or not. I don’t want to hide or lie or keep secrets on my blog, though. This is the place where I can be me, and speak my truth– whatever it is. I’m going to post it all, and there may be a lot of triggering stuff in here, so please, read carefully. Xx
Thursday’s therapy session. It was messy. Well, I was a mess, Bea was great; understanding and compassionate as she always is. Words felt non-existent in my world that day.
The night before I had tried to seduce my husband, and he had ignored me, pushed me away. I ended up in the chair in my living room, all the lights turned on, crying. I felt worthless, and disgusting, dirty and bad and like a whore. I couldn’t believe what I had done. Who acts like that? And what’s more, why did I ever think he could truly want me? I’m a disgusting, worthless, slut. And I don’t even like sex. But a part of me needed my husband to want me, because then he wouldn’t be so distant, and I would know he loves me. But he rejected me. He doesn’t want me. He’s disconnected and gone, and he doesn’t want me. I hadn’t cut for almost a whole week. I failed. I cut. Cutting doesn’t hurt, I never feel that pain. But it stops the thoughts, distracts me, grounds me and somehow numbs me at the same time. And so I hurt myself, again. Because he doesn’t want me.
I wrote it all out, in my notebook. Sometimes I write in a real journal, I need pen and paper to be able to put my thoughts and feelings into words. That night, I wrote on paper. I wrote a letter to Bea, telling her how messed up my head is. I told her I did feel rejected when she didn’t email, that everything she said on Tuesday was right, and I was so angry that I needed someone.
I couldn’t get many words out on Tuesday. I finally gave her my notebook, after freaking out that she would be mad, hate me, leave me. I wanted her to have it, to read it, to know. At the same time, I didn’t want to face her reaction.
I needn’t have worried. She told me a lot of women initiate sex, want to seduce their husbands. She said of course I felt rejected. She told me that abuse survivors are more sensitive to rejection and perceived rejection. She suggested I talk to him about how disconnected he feels. I can’t do that. I keep thinking I should, but I’m afraid. I don’t remember where the conversation led. I just remember being really ashamed, but feeling accepted by Bea anyway.
We talked about Kat, and feelings I have towards her, how she triggers me so much right now. I have never felt so low or awful in my life. Admitting that sometimes I see Kat as me, and think awful things in my head before I can even stop the thoughts. Like, the other day when Kat was running around bare bottomed and in nothing but a tank top because she was hot, I thought she was dirty and sick and such a freaking slut. Then, I felt like the scum of the earth, and I pressed my finger to the stove top where I was cooking scrambled eggs. I hate myself for so many reasons, but this is one of the top reasons. I don’t deserve to be Kat’s mom. This beautiful child. Innocent and sweet and kind, so full of light and love. How did she get stuck with someone whose soul is as black as mine? I’m so sorry for her, so sorry for all the ways I screw up, time and time again.
I don’t remember everything Bea said. I feel like she said I was okay, I wasn’t bad. I feel like she wanted me to feel better. That she saw and felt all the hatred and despair I have over this, over everything about me. She remarked about how I was really feeling so badly about myself….it seems to me that she was seeing me so differently than I see me.
I didn’t tell her about the flashbacks. Well, she knows I am having them, but not the content. And I end up so angry, just wanting to be alone when this happens. I yell at anyone around me, and I shut it all down so quickly. Lately, anytime I feel not listened to, I freak out. It’s always over dumb things but it feels like an emotional flashback, yelling and screaming and crying because no one listened to me as a child.
My hour and half session lasted two hours. Bea told me that she thinks we really need to keep session to an hour and a half, that two hours of processing ugly stuff is too much for anyone. I immediately felt bad and guilty and like I had done something wrong. I apologized and asked her to please not be mad. Was it in my head, or did I really tell her I felt so ashamed for screwing up again and taking more time than I should? She assured me she wasn’t angry, that I hadn’t done anything wrong, I had no reason to apologize, that this was simply about keeping me safe, because it’s really hard to come back from two hours of sitting with big feelings and talking about the ugly scary stuff. I made a point to sit up and tell her I was okay, I was good, no worries. I told her I’m always okay. And she said, “except for when you truly aren’t okay.” I reminded her I tell her when I’m not okay. Of course, in Bea’s world there are more than one kind of okay and not okay. In my world, there is okay, and not okay. And the not okays are really, really bad.
When I left, I paused at the top of the stairs and told her I was very sorry. She looked surprised and said quietly, “For what?!” I told her I didn’t know, I just felt sorry, and that she should just say okay and accept it because I needed her to do that. She nodded and said, “okay. But you don’t need to be sorry.”
I think I’m sorry for existing; for taking time from someone else, for needing Bea, for needing hubby. I’m sorry for being screwed up, and stubborn and afraid of so many things. I’m sorry for being bad, and for putting all my awful thoughts and memories into Bea’s head. I’m sorry for so much, for so many things, and I have no words to explain it. I simply feel sad and hurting and sorry. That’s all.