8 Words
Yesterday therapy was one of those sessions when you know everything has changed. I am soaking in an unusual calm. Every song on the radio was true. My heart is open.
I guard my experiences. I talk about it online. But I struggle to bring it up in therapy. And I rarely talk about therapy afterwards.
This week I took a hard look at that.
I realized how much I depend on others to recognize my trauma. I let them speak for me, because I haven't been able to. I am comforted when they do. I sheepishly soak it in. The confirmation is a warm blanket. Though I hold it so tight, I feel childish clutching it. I stare out of cracks in my fence terrified I’ll be seen, but desperate to connect.
I realized I never say what the abuse did to me. I wait for others to say it. I have a thousand rules around talking about it. They are all bullshit set up to protect others and keep it guarded.
Yesterday in therapy I read him a letter telling him what I felt and believed. I told him how they smeared me with evil. The violence they injected me with is contained and incapsulated, safe from the world. How I know it broke me, that I snapped.
He suggested I distill the experience down to 12 words or less. He believes there is something at the core of the experience I haven't expressed. He thinks it maybe something like "I thought I was going to die". I'm a little uneasy that he may have put words in my mouth. But he almost nailed it.
Actually it's closer to "I thought I was going to be killed".
There's a billion fucking words after that...
I guard my experiences. I talk about it online. But I struggle to bring it up in therapy. And I rarely talk about therapy afterwards.
This week I took a hard look at that.
I realized how much I depend on others to recognize my trauma. I let them speak for me, because I haven't been able to. I am comforted when they do. I sheepishly soak it in. The confirmation is a warm blanket. Though I hold it so tight, I feel childish clutching it. I stare out of cracks in my fence terrified I’ll be seen, but desperate to connect.
I realized I never say what the abuse did to me. I wait for others to say it. I have a thousand rules around talking about it. They are all bullshit set up to protect others and keep it guarded.
Yesterday in therapy I read him a letter telling him what I felt and believed. I told him how they smeared me with evil. The violence they injected me with is contained and incapsulated, safe from the world. How I know it broke me, that I snapped.
He suggested I distill the experience down to 12 words or less. He believes there is something at the core of the experience I haven't expressed. He thinks it maybe something like "I thought I was going to die". I'm a little uneasy that he may have put words in my mouth. But he almost nailed it.
Actually it's closer to "I thought I was going to be killed".
There's a billion fucking words after that...
