alltheavenueslookugly

my posts are always full of triggers, but this one mentions something that i have not talked about before on this blog, and that is childhood abuse. just a warning. if it is something you can’t handle, please don’t read it. it’s not graphic, but it is an important topic in this post. and it’s fucking long. sorry about that.

i don’t want to go back to therapy.

i do actually, and need it desperately – honestly have had a couple of good sessions that were some good ‘holy shit’ moments but think that had more to do with me just rambling on and on and stumbling into those realizations than it did because she was somehow able to ease me into a comfort level i had previously decided did not exist.

but i don’t feel comfortable with her any longer. it’s the way she looks at me, the way she speaks, the questions she asks, the way her smile looks shit-eating and unfriendly, and what really pushed it over the edge was something she implied a few weeks ago.

i have tried my hardest to be very honest in what i write here and have revealed some awful and embarrassing facts and behaviors – and after that session last month i really tried my hardest to write about it. i wrote probably six drafts and deleted them all because nothing sounded right and even the truth was like reciting shit that you overheard by a stranger in a bar in a city that you’ve never been to before and will probably never ever go back to. i figured now that it’s just best to tell it like it happened, and hopefully i might make some sense of it. i have a horrible memory, and tried not to leave anything of importance out.

with just about 5-10 minutes left in our session – and i had been talking at length about my childhood and when i first became aware of my depression and when i began to cut myself – she stopped me and asked what might have happened to cause me to feel that way. was there an event or anything unusual that occurred, because being 11-12 years old and wanting to kill yourself is not normal thinking for a child that age.

i told her that with the dozens of therapists, doctors, etc. and all the hospitalizations over the years that that question was one of the first. probably more than anything else i have wrestled with that one and tried my hardest to think of anything that i might have looked over and discarded. i told her we had moved recently to nevada, and maybe it was the move that had upset me and kicked things off.

she told me that was unlikely and suggested that in her experience when a child that young had those kind of intense thoughts, that it was more likely abuse had happened.

i told her my parents spanked us when we were young, but it wasn’t like they pounded on us. i know abuse survivors, and it was nothing compared to what they go through.

i said that maybe it was the verbal abuse from my father?

she shook her head. she told me if i wasn’t hit that it sounded like the abuse was sexual.

i was kind of confused. i had never heard that before. i told her i didn’t think so. i have no recollection of anything like that.

she said i would be surprised at what the mind of a child is capable of burying, and just how far it can bury something like that.

i asked her if it were possible to do anything to remember – to unearth the memory if it had indeed happened, so that i might begin to deal with that. otherwise, i am just going to continue to walk around without the memory, but all the stupid mind-fuck shit that comes with such a thing. i would rather just confront it and go from there.

she said sometimes it is possible. sometimes the mind just out of the blue recalls it, and sometimes people try things like hypnosis or other practices. but it wasn’t guaranteed. and it was always possible that it hadn’t happened, but the symptoms were there.

and she said that if i ever wanted to talk about it, we should.

i told her there was nothing to talk about. that it hadn’t happened.

she didn’t believe me, and repeated a couple more times that when i was ready to talk about that then i could.

and then our time was up for the day.

what the fuck.

she looked at me and said that she hoped she hadn’t upset me.

i told her she didn’t.

i lied.

i don’t know what fucked with me more – the fact that she strongly implied something like that and not only didn’t believe me when i said i didn’t remember, but also seemed to push me into trying to admit something that i didn’t believe, or that she dropped that shit on me right before our session ended and then tried to make it better by saying she hadn’t intended on upsetting me.

i walked out of the building and had no idea what to do. none of it seemed right. maybe i am crazy, but it just seemed irresponsible. for all she knew she had just ripped open a huge fucking scar and then sent me off to about my day and hope i didn’t end it by opening my wrists all over the bathroom floor. i know nothing like that ever happened, but she put the idea in my head, and now i’m scared that maybe it did. maybe i had some pervert neighbor and my parents never knew, and i buried it so deep that i will never find it again – and with everything that was said and discovered during the past twenty years, i know that if my parents had known about anything like that, it would have been brought up. somehow someway. but i feel like deep down i know this never happened, but what if that is just my screwed up mind doing a really good job at hiding things, but maybe i am looking for something that just isn’t there. and for a few days after that i almost went nuts trying to remember any little fucking detail from my childhood that might have given her idea any merit. it was torturous. and wrong. and i am still stuck.

so thanks, lady.

i’ve seen her once since that happened – back on the 25th of february. when she fell asleep during our talk. neither of us mentioned the previous session.  i canceled our appointment for last week at the last minute. and the thought of sitting in that tiny stinky room with her tomorrow just makes me sick. i will go in tomorrow and tell her i am done, and that if i cannot get a different therapist then i am done with the therapy there. i will show up every month and get my medication and that will be it. and if she asks me why, i will tell her. or i won’t, and i will deal with it just as i have dealt with things like this in the past. the idea of the confrontation makes me so uncomfortable. i hate it.

and honestly, the worst part is that i am scared that this is all just one big goddamn overreaction by me, and i just don’t know what to do about it.

this shit took me an hour and a half to write. i don’t know if i feel any better about it.

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2013/03/11.

Posted in march13
Tags: abuse, bipolar disorder, depression, guilt, posts about suicide, therapy