This weekend has been filled with grief. Like many Americans, and even those around the world, I cannot get over the senseless loss of those precious children in Connecticut. Thinking of their parents brings me to tears instantly. And so close to Christmas.
My tears have been mixed with grief over discussing those abuse memories with my T as well, although my feelings about that feel so petty in comparison to what those parents and that community is going through.
I asked for a second session with my T last week, but it felt like I mainly used it to just cry and ask her over and over again if she is disgusted with me. She was a bit sick, like everyone in town has been, so she told me she wasn’t 100%, but she was present as she could be, which I appreciated. Like the session before, she admitted to being disgusted with my father, but not with me. I was in tears but told her that the things he did to me were disgusting, and she (frighteningly enough) agreed, which, to me, makes me disgusting simply by default. She said she understood that it was hard to separate the two, but that the act itself does not make me a disgusting person.
She said the things I told her were “drastic” which of course makes me doubt their truth. How can anything so bad actually be true? What makes me doubt myself even more, and this doesn’t quite make sense to me, is what she told me about her feeling for my father. She said that she feels such extreme rage for him and, somewhat jokingly, said that she hopes she never meets him because of the almost homicidal rage she has for him. What makes me doubt is that it seems like I should never have said anything that makes her feel that way about him, although, objectively, I suppose I can understand.
Towards the end of the session, I asked her again if she was disgusted with me, and she said no. She also told me to keep asking so that I can keep checking in with her about it and maybe eventually see that she really isn’t disgusted with me and won’t ever become disgusted. She also told me that she’s glad I’m alive, because I’d told her that I was surprised when I’d spoken to her on the phone, because she said she was thankful I wasn’t suicidal, and I’d told her that I expected her to want me dead after the things I’d told her.
This weekend, between everything, I’ve felt such overwhelming grief that I can hardly stand it. I haven’t been actively suicidal, but at a couple times, the grief was so overwhelming that death felt like it would have been the only release. Today has been a little bit better, although I’ve been using some not so great ways to help accomplish that. I’m moving, by the end of the month, into a great new place, so perhaps once the moving bit is accomplished and I’m settled, I can start to get past all of this. I’m excited about where I’ll be living, but not excited about moving. This will be the 5th move within 4 years, but this last one is hopefully going to stick.
I’m hoping I can at least get to the point where I can manage things okay on my own, since there will be a 3 week break from my T over the holidays and then another couple weeks toward the end if January. I better get good at that self-soothing thing, and quick.