Blowing Smoke

Today, my therapist told me she's not going to "blow smoke up my ass" or "bullshit" me. I like her even more now.

She said this to make sure I knew she's not trying to "dress me up in a pretty dress and send me back out into the world." She said it because of my response to her telling me I am not ugly and I should not be ashamed. My response was, "But I am ashamed and everyone knows and everyone can see it." I told her about my self-realizations today.

We talked about my explosions of rage and she said even if the actions are wrong, the feelings are there and they're neither good nor bad, simply are. Told her I'm so tired of always saying "I'm Sorry" for things that seem to happen out of my control...it's like vomit. I told her I was ashamed of it and that I hate who I am.

She said I don't really know who I am, yet. But we'll get there.

I told her about mine and Gary's conversation this morning. I cried and told her he's right about all of it. He's always right... the shame - God the shame - is so compounded because of the flashback.

"Do you want to tell me about the flashback?"

I kind of told her...kind of.

"The shame is bigger than the world, bigger than me," I cried.

"You were a child," she said. "You had no control."

"BUT I DID IT!" I yelled back, not really knowing where it came from, feeling so, so ashamed - the image so fresh in my mind, I felt I could reach out and touch it. That's how REAL a flashback is.

"You were just a child and to this day you're doing the same thing - you're trying to do what everyone wants you to do."

This made me sob even harder because I'd told her that I told Gary I'd do anything - anything - to work it out because all I wanted, was for him to love me.

I told her about pushing people away. She said most trauma survivors show people their ugly core first, then that way, if the person leaves, it's okay.

"I used to do that," I confessed. "I used to lay it out like a disclaimer. Tell everyone about my past. But I don't do that anymore."

"Then how are you pushing people away?" she asked.

"I don't know," I cried, wracking, sobbing cries. "I don't know. I talk, I buy birthday cards. I'm a good listener. I don't know how I push people away. I don't know what he means."

She said I am probably not pushing people away, but that is his perspective. I told her I do keep people at arm's length - and I do - but that's not pushing them away. Neither, according to her, are these outbursts. They're not pushing people away; they are based on a lifetime of abuse that started as a child and have become a dysfunctional habit of sorts. That's why they're so intense. "You get flooded," she validated. She's absolutely right.

She says I'm like an onion and we have to peel away these layers of abuse and intrusive thoughts that have been built around a beautiful core. She said she can already tell that I am a strong, generous, giving, authentic, compassionate person...going through a crisis. She said, "Most people would have crumbled three weeks ago. You have more strength and courage than you realize yet."

She told me I am functioning as best as I can right now. Even with the drinking - which I told her I agreed with Gary about (and she kind of nodded in agreement) - I told her I realize there are things I need to change but she, recognizing I was criticizing myself, again said: "You are managing the best way you know how, for now. That will change."

She said we'll get to that core, but some people - those like Gary and those who listen to his side of the story without ever even wondering how true it really is or saying they're uncomfortable knowing about my personal history - are not worthy of bearing witness to the peeling of my layers.

She's right.

As the session ended, she searched for a word to best describe me right now. As her blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, she looked back at me and said, "Raw. You are raw right now."

She's right about that, too.

It was an extremely emotional session.