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I went into some of my story today with my new therapist, told her some details of the first time ESU abused me. Now I am feeling anxious, I am feeling panic and terror inside of me. It is interesting, the differences, telling her and telling m old therapist. It is interesting, the different reactions from the two of them.
When I told my old therapist this story I literally went into shock. I withdrew completely and almost quit therapy. I could not even answer the phone when she called to check up on me.
When I told this time there was no emotion in my voice. I was flat and blunted. But I stayed with myself. I did not dissociate.
She said something I am struggling with, because it is a strange realization. And it is true. She said he did not hurt me the first time, and by this she meant he did not cause physical pain, obviously he hurt me. It is strange to think about, it is minimizing in a sense, it feels like she was saying it was not a big deal, but I know she was not saying that. It was a huge deal, it was terrifying in every way.
At first there was almost a gentleness to him when he would hurt me. The intention was not violence, it was control, it was getting something he wanted from me. It was using me, I was simply an object to him. But it was like at first he took care not to cause me physical harm. After awhile he stopped caring, he did not even notice or pay attention. A few times he was purposely violent
Oddly my first therapist had a similar reaction when I told her about the second time he hurt me. She commented that he became more violent, he became less concerned about my physical well being.
The first time resembled seduction. My therapist commented it was what you might see between two adults, but instead between a grown man and a 6 year old girl, which of course makes it rape. but on the surface, there was a gentleness to it.
I dont know why this bothers me so much
It is also odd because right now all I want is the comfort and love from my old therapist. I want her to hold me. And I want to talk to my new therapist. I can barely wait for my next session. I want them both.
Oddly, after almost a month of not talking to her, I had to email my old therapist to ask a question for a friend. It was a few emails back and forth, very surfacy, me asking, her saying yes, me saying happy thanksgiving, her saying you too where will you be and where she would be, me responding, her responding. Exactly how you would email a friend, which I guess technically we are right now. It felt weird, interacting with her, and not telling her, but at the same time it did not even OCCUR to me to tell her when I was emailing. It felt NORMAL to stay on the surface
I had a dream about needing to ingest poison, but the poison was really medicine. It was actually something I needed to take in order to survive. But, in the dream, I was deceitful and pretended I took it. I didn't really, I went through the motions, but I was found out and caught.
Then the dream flashed to a memory. A black and white memory (I normally dream in color) of me after my suicide attempt. I had swallowed a bottle of tylenol PM, and at the hospital they gave me a large styrofoam cup of charcoal to drink. Then they left me alone. I took one sip and decided it was unpalatable. I threw it away. They never found out.
As I told my therapist this, she pointed out something I never considered and still cannot wrap my head around. I am proud of having not drank something that was supposed to help me. I am glad I did not take my medicine I see this as a GOOD thing. I cannot actually see how not drinking it was bad. I cannot see the negative of it.
I mean first of all...I ended up being fine. Second of all, if I had caused my body harm, I don't care. I have such hatred and disdain for my body, I don't care what happens to it. I cannot find a part of me that wants to take care of it. I cannot be bothered. It has betrayed me, before I was even born it was messed up.
This is different then hating myself. I don't entirely hate myself, there are parts I hate, but in general, I do not hate myself. I have absolute hatred for my body
The idea of the dream is, do I take the medicine, do I do what is good for me and healthy for me, or do I do the other. Do I do what is bad for me. It is about taking care of myself. Which I get, I can do things to take care of myself. But I cannot do things to take care of my body.
All this transitioning, it is about becoming embodied, it is about reclaiming my body becoming who I am. It is about learning to love something I have always hated.
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