I should listen to Grace and not post a blog after therapy....but here I am and I suppose it is my hope to feel better after I write this.
You know it's a bad day when the first thing you say to your therapist is, "I'm sorry....I am not feeling good today. I know I usually do, I'm sorry."
Is it even worth it.... The work I'm trying to do with her?
The fear races back. Sneaks up on me nearly six months later. Winds it's way into my sleep.
I sit here post therapy a list of tools in my hands, but I am frozen.
The years flood, the violence flows, been told many times it wasn't that bad. I guess I know that. All my bones were still intact, no broken skin, only a damaged hip, which I was told was my fault because I simply "got in the way". So why some days do I feel so broken.
Smiling, letting everyone know I am fine...I'm healed, I'm happy. And I am happy most of the time...but the grief takes over....less than grief now....it is simply fear.
And anger that yet again, it isn't enough...or the right kind of pain...or as bad as yours or someone else's.... The feeling of "not enough" swamps me today post therapy and I ask again, is it worth it?
Trying to use the tools, the counting, the breathing, the resource spot, the image of tossing a caber.....
And all I have to show for it tonight is shaking hands and a strong desire to run. All I hear in an echoey skull is how all the choices I made led to that moment, to this moment, to this continued fear that I am still waiting for his permission to even be allowed to feel.
All on my shoulders....all on me...and this is breaking my shoulders and my spirit.
To be thrown back here post therapy makes it feel like nothing is working....
My scrambled words on this screen tonight are at least more than I could express 6 or 3 months ago. And somewhere in my aching, confused, frightened mind I know, as a dear friend reminded me this weekend, that my story is mine.