I should probably write even though I don’t want to.
This won’t be eloquent or pretty… I don’t even know what this is going to say yet, or even how I feel.
Therapy was 2 hours today. (It always is on Tuesdays, but I feel like it’s important to clarify that for context.)
I’ve been struggling a lot lately. Like…a lot. A whole fucking lot. And I’ve been writing a good bit because of that.
I wrote about the fucked up thing that happened. That’s been happening. I wrote about who did it. I named him. For the first time…I put his name out there. It’s been implied and assumed, and I knew she assumed it was this person, but to actually put it on paper…
So I only procrastinated for like 20 minutes before I convinced myself to let her read it all. Progress?
And fuuuuck. To sit there while I handed her some of what felt like the most vulnerable things I’ve ever written? That was absolutely brutal.
I have no idea what she was thinking because I was no longer in the room at that point. Physically I was…but I was fighting to not just completely dissociate. I actually started like stream of consciousness writing on the back of my coloring page just to ground myself. I knew it wasn’t going to help anyone if I let myself get too far gone.
The rest of it was weird. Not in a bad way… I don’t know. It’s hard to even pretend to know what she’s thinking when I make nearly zero attempts to look up from the ground.
She knows me well enough to know that I’m….finicky? Weird? A fucking disaster? When it comes to anything even close to vulnerable or emotional. So I know she was treading lightly…or something to that effect.
But sometimes I wish she wouldn’t. I surely don’t know what I need, or how to feel better…or at least how to not want to fucking die so much right now…
But I do know that I can’t take the lead on this one. I know I need to, I know I need to be better. She wants me to be the one who talks openly rather than just waiting for her to ask questions… and I get that. I do.
But I don’t know how to do that. With this…with this topic, there is such a disconnect between my head and my mouth. Not to mention whatever fucking part it is that absolutely refuses to allow me to feel emotion.
I don’t know how to heal from this. I’m feeling rather stuck on it, and it’s actually quite soul crushing.
I’m minimizing it right now…but this actually feels pretty emergent. It feels like I’m teetering on the edge of losing myself completely. I’m drowning..and I need help with this. (Or maybe it just isn’t a big deal and I should just GET THE FUCK OVER IT AND MOVE ON!!!!)
Once again, I find myself in a position where I feel absolutely everything, but it’s shoved so far down that actually feeling it is unacceptable.
This feels too fucking big. I’m frustrated and I’m….I’m so many things that I don’t even know what I am anymore. I’m hurting so much that even the thought of my kids doesn’t even feel like a good enough reason to stay alive and bare this much pain. And that says a fucking lot. They have always been the thing that’s kept me here.
I never thought any amount of pain could be stronger than that…but this feels like it might be.
It’s no one’s job to fix me. It’s no one’s job to care or to pretend to give a shit. It is nobody’s job to stay with me and grab my hand and lead me through the darkness. No one. Not my husband, not my therapist, not anyone.
I’m no one’s burden or problem. I understand that.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish that just this once…someone would actually grab my hand and lead me through the darkness.
Or at least plug in a fucking nightlight.