Saw my new therapist today.
Ugh. I hate starting from scratch. Now I understand what my patients feel when they meet me for the first time. Having to rehash all that shit and explain it again is really, really hard.
Yes, I was sexually abused…yes, I’ve dealt with it through therapy…can we move on now?
The first time I tried to commit suicide? Five…yes, that’s what I said; five years old. No, I’m not feeling suicidal now. I haven’t in years; I can’t leave my husband like that.
Oh. My. God.
So fucking draining. And he looked like a ghost popped out of my nose when I said some of what I said. So much for non-judgment.
Can’t wait for next week’s session where we continue to rehash my glorious past.
One thing did occur to me throughout the session: I’m still here. Throughout everything I mentioned, I’m still fucking here. I’m not going anywhere. This thing inside my head, much to its chagrin, has not been able to take me out. I continue to survive and thrive despite it.
Fuck you, mental illness.