The Therapy.

The blog is the therapy.  I knew it, but I didn’t truly realize it until now.

What I mean is, when I can’t talk to someone else – not completely – and when I can’t talk to my therapist, I come here.

Right now I’m not talking to my therapist because I’m fine.  I don’t need therapy.

Funny thought.

So here I am again, 2 days in a row after months unwritten.  The topic today? Me writhing in my own shit once again.  I made my bed; now I have to lay in it.

Only…This bed yells at me, tells me something is wrong in me, that I have hate in my voice when I speak (perhaps I should speak with Hillary Clinton).  Tells me I have no right to speak to my doctor on my own. I speak back in a confident voice that is not my own. And once the call ends, I break down. I break down for hours without end….because the tears seem to come from that endless well that I’ve spoken of for so many years.  Yet I’ve never reached the bottom.  When will I find it?

That bed.  I’ve made that bed.  And now I’m laying in it.  And it wreaks.  It crawls.  The bugs are biting me in unseen places.

I come home and realize: I never should have done this.  I knew it could never work.  He was never a changed person.   Did it happen?  I don’t know.  But I can’t handle him.  I was healthier without him.  Undeniably.  Yes? No?  So many doubts.

The only thing undeniable right now is the love my Golden Retriever has for me right now. That….Now, that, is something I can always count on.  For now, that will be enough to satisfy this troubled soul.


Inexplicable Explanation


These past few weeks, I’ve been finding myself becoming increasingly more of a sap over small things.  Or suddenly struck with fear or dread over something I see on the television.  I watched Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I am a horse lover, so I like the movie, but I cried the entire time.  That’s not normal.  I cried when a man was kind and caring to a woman on a television show.  And I start thinking, “Wow, I’m emotional with no explanation.” But there’s always an explanation.  I just have yet to find it.  Or want to find it.  Normally it’s the latter.
I had not been putting much thought into it until it refused to be ignored the past two days – over the weekend, when I was laid up in bed from a herniated disc in my neck.  I’m going on month 5 of this, and after a long week, I had planned on having no plans over the weekend.  Apparently, my emotional self, and all the other “selves” that come with that, took advantage of this time.
Perhaps I have been avoiding them.  Even neglecting them.  Or perhaps I’ve downright abandoned them lately.  I think I’ve had to.  I’ve had stress lately…I think I’ve lost time once or twice.  My memory has been downright shitty.
And now I’m crying at animated movies narrated by Matt Damon from 2002.
How the fuck did I get myself here?
I keep thinking, “Yeah, you’re good…You don’t need therapy anymore.  Besides, what else can she help you with? Clearly, you’ve made your decision.  Clearly, you think you can handle having contact with your father while still living near your mother who works long distance for your father.  Clearly, you think that’s the only way forward right now, so clearly, that’s the way forward.”
Have you ever gotten yourself so screwed over in a position….Financially, mentally, emotionally….That you just can’t find a way out?
That’s where I am.  It will be years before I dig myself out of the hole I’m in.  I’m working on it.  I’m trying to explore possible escape routes.  But it appears I will have to suck it up and take the long way out.
I sure hope my life is worth it. Good thing I’ve got this new semicolon tattoo on my ankle to keep me sane.

The problem with relationships

In high school, as a teenager who just wanted to fit in, I “decided” I wanted to date a guy who had been a friend of mine for a couple years.  We began “dating” after some typical high school giggly crap.  Our “relationship” lasted two months.  He was very sweet to me and seemed pretty excited to be dating me.  I did not feel the same.  He wanted to hold hands and hug in public, I did not – but I did anyway.  He wanted to hold hands and hug in private.  I did not – but I did anyway.  Sometimes he would wrap his arm around my shoulder and it was as if there were little bolts of electricity jarring me with every touch, and I just wanted to get rid of it.  I specifically remember a time when he put his hand on my right shoulder, and my skin was crawling right around each of his fingertips.

We kissed twice during our entire relationship.  Neither of us really knew how to kiss, so it was very awkward.  Just like everything else with our “relationship”, he enjoyed it, but I did not.  I pretended as if everything was fine, for his sake.  I quickly realized that it wasn’t fair of me to continue to lead him on as if I were happy being with him.  I still respected and valued him as a person and a friend, but I couldn’t handle dating him.  I didn’t know why at the time… All I know is I felt very messed up.

I broke up with him on or just before New Year’s Eve.  Mainly because I couldn’t handle having to kiss him again, which I knew he wanted.  I’ve been told I broke his heart.  I never could understand how that was, considering those two months, for me, were very faked.  He and I remained friends for a short while, although it was strained.  He got over me, though, and very soon was dating someone else.  I was truly glad for him.

This was when I was a junior in high school at the age of 17.  I am now 24, and I have not dated anyone since him.  I’ve had no interest in dating.  I kept trying to convince myself that eventually the right person would find me, but I don’t think I’ve been truly open to the prospect of dating, and perhaps other people could sense that.  In the time that has passed since when I first dated in high school, I have realized that the core reason behind the issues I had with dating was the years of abuse I suffered beginning when I was five years old.  And it had made me so frustrated, because all I want is to be able to care for someone and to have someone care for me.  I’ve felt, and continue to feel, as if that is an impossibility for me.

Many of my friends have recently gotten married and/or had children.  I’ve never been one to be jealous of this kind of thing, because I’ve never felt lonely being a singleton.  Being in therapy for years now, I have simply been learning to be comfortable with myself.  I have no idea how to incorporate a significant other in that.  However my thinking started to change when my two closest friends recently got engaged, and I realized that maybe I’m preventing myself from living a full life.

I’ve “tried” online dating before.  They were very pathetic attempts.  I talked to a few guys and even got to the point of possibly setting up a time to meet one.  But I’ve chickened out every time, coming up with a lame excuse as to why I couldn’t come and then being afraid of talking to them ever again.  I decided to give it another go around the beginning of December.  I had a different attitude in approaching it this time.  I wasn’t tying my self worth into a man’s perception of me.  I didn’t care if someone suddenly quit responding to me.

I started to talk with this one particular guy, whom I’ll call J.  He was kind and funny in his messages to me and seemed to be genuinely interested in what I had to say.  We talked back and forth for a few weeks before we recently decided to meet up at a local coffee shop to get to know each other.  As first dates go, this one wasn’t too bad.  Sure, it had its awkward silences and flat conversations, but we also shared some laughs.  I noticed, before, during, and after this date that I did not feel anything in regards to J.  Not that I was uninterested; it was more that I convinced myself so completely not to care about him or how he feels about me that I shut everything else off as well.

Regardless, I made plans with him to go ice skating.  Neither of us had ever been, and living in a mountain resort town, we both felt it was about time we learn.  After a scheduling change due to weather, we went out to dinner and then went skating together, followed by some hot chocolate.  There was much less awkwardness this time.  Things were a bit easier, the conversation lighter, and we laughed much more freely than before.  J even admitted to having skated a few days prior so that I could hold onto him as I learned.  This ended up being good, as I was able to hang onto him to keep from falling.  I’m not naive enough to believe that he didn’t just love that.

Later that evening, he was driving me back to my car, and I felt my nerves start to kick in.  I knew what was coming next, I could tell he was expecting it, and I was terrified.  I kissed a man for the first time since I was 17 years old, and I felt absolutely nothing.  I pretended as if I was fine, though.  He seemed very happy.

Then I got in my car and felt as if I was on the verge of a breakdown, but I couldn’t cry.  I was caught between numbness and something that I can only describe as disgust.  Not at him, and not exclusively around the actual kiss, but the fact that I participated in it.  There was some part of me that was so astonished and disgusted at what had just happened.  I drove home in complete silence, no music playing at all, because I couldn’t comprehend my reaction.

On the one hand, I was pleasantly surprised with the evening.  I enjoyed my time with J and felt happy that I’m finally establishing a close relationship with someone.  On the other hand, I couldn’t stand being in my own body.  And both of those conflicting feelings are still stirring in me now.

He texted me later that night to make sure I got home safely in the snow, that he had a wonderful evening, and he can’t wait to see me again sometime soon.  It’s a couple days later and I will be going to his house for dinner and a movie.  I’m terrified again.  He might think that I have more experience in relationships than I do, although I know, in earlier conversations, that I told him how little I have dated.  He is a safe guy, the rational me can tell.  But I’m still scared.

They have been quiet for a long time, but there are parts of me that are convinced that I am too messed up to be able to have a normal relationship with someone and that once he sees the real me, with all of my issues and flaws, he will run in the opposite direction.  I almost want that so that I don’t have to deal with the sheer terror of this, but rational me knows that new things are supposed to be scary.  I suppose they are just a little scarier with a history like mine.

I’m very scared about what he might be expecting from me this evening.  I know I need to prepare myself to have some sort of conversation with him about expectations if things are moving too quickly for me.  A part of me is convinced that will be the nail in the coffin, though, because he’ll realize just how messed up I am.

It’s times like these that I truly hate my father for what he’s done to me, making me incapable of having a relationship, just like he predicted.  Maybe I can prove him wrong.


I think I’m giving up. I keep wondering, how long can I be on the edge without falling over? I don’t think I can hang on much longer. I don’t know how.

This is, perhaps, one of the darkest, deepest, and most depressing places I’ve been in my entire life. Besides the years and years my father abused me, this is it.

I’m losing the strength to care how my death will affect others. How selfish of me. And yet I still can’t find the strength to crawl out of this deep, dark pit I’m in.

Overwhelming grief

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.