Rantings and Revelations ~ TW

Well - therapy went well - I did indeed, run with my fears and triggers. It was not at all what I thought. I do not have to go to treatment, she is not talking to my shrink. We are just learning each other and learning trust ( so no there yet - the trust). I hope the trust comes. I have Such a hard time trusting. I can not even SHOW emotions to her when I speak with her. I just hide it and bottle it up and prepare for the coming storm! She thought I was in crisis - I was just in the depth of emotions and flashbacks and memories that uncovered this new vast story that I do not know how to integrate into my narrative about my life and who I am.

I feel like she expects me to go through this whole process with no emotions and I cannot. Emotions are not something I need to fix or reduce. They are something I need to hold, feel, embrace and with honoring, let it go. I feel I can make no progress without this. But I also feel like I am doing this alone and I am not the one with a Psy.D to know how to do this. Maybe I need to do more research/ reading up on how healing works? On what to do?

I mean I told her about the fact that I could not ground myself and nothing got better until I went numb. She said it was a good coping skill for now. What? Ugh.

My secret: I am so angry with her ( myself maybe is more like it) for NOT showing emotions - but I do not feel safe yet. I want so fucking bad to let this out somewhere other than in the privacy of my own head - in here. I want so much to have another human being HEAR me, what I feel, what I went through, what I go through, every damn day in my head because of it. I want to POUR out all this emotions without someone trying to stuff it back in ( I am worried that if I do show emotions, I will have her try to make them go away). I WANT to feel - because I KNOW, I know - this is the way out - for me. And because I OWE THIS TO MYSELF ! I owe this to lil me. She/me/we NEEDS to feel this so we can stop holding onto it. But I am so scared to do it. I do not even feel unless I make time for it or am thrown into the inferno - arms flailing!

She wants to Not focus on me telling her memories for a while - well fuck. What do I do with these then??? They are not stopping, they are coming. The doors are wide open. Where do I put them? I cannot carry them every minute of the day. And I cannot eve tell her details of the body memories. I will be brutally honest with myself - they scare me. I am so ashamed of them. It is shame all over again. It is abuse all over again. it is self hatred all over again. I am vile, filthy, and disgusting. What do I DO with these? How do I process that information, alone?

And how much of this therapy is working? And how much is my fault? Her fault? I know I have a big role to play - I do not express my feelings - hell, I hardly speak at all. Seriously. How much can she help me if I cannot even do that. Maybe I need to set a goal for myself for next session, and just TELL her this. Why do I have so much trouble with my words - speaking aloud? I can think, I can write, I can express how I think and feel in written word. Then it comes to my voice and I lose all power. I get swept into all these emotions I do not know how to express and I am afraid of expressing - and I just, so to limbo land. Nothing in. Nothing out.

I am going to do that, next session - this weekend, I am going to speak about my emotions and how I feel she doesn't want me to have any but I have all of them. No, not just speak - I NEED to let it out. Maybe just a lil at a time, maybe pour some down on her . I have to let someone in at some time. Even if she leaves and I do not think she will, I need to do this. I am so filled with emotions right now - and I can not get them out because I always have to fucking fake happy and functional for my aunt.

I do not even Know how I feel.

How Do I feel?

Everything and nothing. Limbo looming. Nothing gets in or out. Limbo. Untouchable

How do I even WORD how I feel? Or what is going on.

A letter! Hahahah, NO EMAIL. I mean, a letter To her about my feelings and what I need - and how this is fucking up my life, and the memories and the horridness of everything. Just spew, get it out - then refine it. Then in our coming session: READ THE DAMN THING TO HER. Get it out. Yes. That is what I am going to do. Then she too can see that I can BE IN the depth of the emotions that knock me down - and watch me still get up.

See that emotions do not mean crisis to me. I am going to do this - I don't care how long it is - I am going to get this out. And I do not know what This is - what I need to get out exactly - but I feel something hidden crawling out of my throat. I am scared and I don't want to know/ I want to know. I am letting it all out and just see what happens. And it is safe because it is a letter, written word - the only language I speak apparently. And I do not need to share all parts with her - NO, I am, I will - I am tired of hiding . Not saying going to spew my history - fuck that. But I am done censoring for her. I have no clue what is going to be in this " letter" but I am semi curious to find out ( I can retract that curiosity later). OH, the hard part - reading it and using my voice - and most of all - allowing my emotions to flow, the anger, the fear, the pain and hurt and sorrow, all of it and everything in between. As it shows up, it shows up. I can't anymore. I am so scared to do this and yet so relived that I am. ( I will hate myself later when faced with having to read it - no, Wanting , wanting to read it.

I want to tell her about everything - what it is like for me, just being alive , right now. And what it is like to have your whole world changed in the blink of an eye. And how I try to walk around, covered in body memories that bring me right back. I am really struggling with that. Fuck it, I'm going to do this. I am going to follow through and read it. I am going to address that my feelings need to be addressed before my rational thought.

I AM SO SACRED.

But I guess, feel the dear, do it anyways. Just, act.

I am still not okay with my therapist and session. I have been thinking about this. She still does not understand. But I think this is my fault. Oh, she understands now about me feeling deep emotions and losing my shit is NOT a crisis and I will be okay, eve if I feel that I won't.

She was acting and talking like I knew all of these memories and the scope and time frame of His abuse. Then one I spoke to her about - aloud. She even asked me, like: Well, you already knew what happened - some part of you. Didn't you? But she asked me in a tone that already stated she thought and knew I did. I did NOT. This is all fucking NEW to me. But did I tell her? No, I tried, I stumbled with my words and I gave up. I let her believe whatever she wanted because it was easier than speaking.

This is all new to me ! I had this protective self narrative that blurred what happened and said, he didn't have boundaries. It felt bad and yucky , but it was really okay. And I believed it - up until like weeks ago and most recently, days ago~ I do not know what to do with this. This Does change everything and I resent her saying that it doesn't and I can chose another narrative . One that explains he might have been abused - fuck that! I want to feel however i feel - even angry. For now. Then later, we'll talk. It feels like she is rushing me through this process and leaving emotions behind. I am going to tell her on Saturday, our next appointment, all of this in this letter I wrote to her.

And a HUGE thing is, and I tried to tell her today but I didn't have the words and I gave up....And I do not even know if this will make sense to her or not, god I hope it does because it took everything out of me to be able to word this:

1. The memory of being abused at a very young age , the one I spoke aloud - I can not figure out what physically happened to me , in adult words. I can't tie them together. I feel stupid, but I can't do it.

2. I need help taking little me memories and translating them into adult words and accepting and holding, all the feelings, from both the child part of me that went through it and the ADULT part of me that is just realizing what happened and is reliving it, but from a little me perspective.

AHHHHHH! DOES THIS EVE MAKE ANY SENSE???????

Maybe I am just bonkers - maybe that is why she doesn't understand me. Why I can't explain myself. But this really bothers me - this misunderstanding of me all the time but me in hut down mode all the time around her. And I feel so STUPID - but I honestly can't translate this info to big me - me - at all. What is wrong with me??????

Fuck, I can't go anywhere, do anything and even on damn cups too - without being triggered to the core of my being. Im sitting here in this deep shame crying - over something so stupid! And I Know its NOT about that - its about What was triggered. I actually wonder if I will EVER find ANY peace at all. I feel so fucking broken.

So I did a thing. I wrote a short story , err, the first chapter of it. Or the introduction if it is going to be much longer. I wrote it so easily - like it was just trying to come out. Then , I read it. And it hits me:

This story ( or the beginnings of a story, more like, intro, lol) is telling exactly how I feel about my abuse and my abuser ( the He I have not been talking about). Its uncanny! Then I got really sad...because this story is like my life: How the trauma seeps through and taints, colors - everything in my life to the point even my little horror story for fun - is oozing with pain and trauma feelings.

And how my whole life - it revolves around keeping these secrets. Even now that I am trying to open up and share, my voice and words will not follow through. I think I am doing quite well here though , in my journal, tearing out what is inside so I can look at it. Then this rush of anger - that I even have to keep secrets . Why am I still held hostage by these people? Why am I bound by shame? It is not my shame ( but I feel it, I am it, where does it start and I end?) but I carry it.

Why do I keep his ( HIS) secrets against me and his atrocities? I understand why I keep his - I still have to be around him, live a life with him in it. ( I wish I didn't sometimes and I just can't now - I have been ignoring him for weeks because I just...can't, I swear to god I will fall apart). But why, HIS? He has such utter and total control by fear over me - bore into my very core of being. I HATE THAT EVIL BASTARD - yet I keep his secrets to the point it is harming me 10X over. I can not get out of his grasp - physical or emotional. He is not here anymore, he is dead but his physical hold on me still is so alive in how I feel. I feel I have not aged when I think of him and everything is just like how it was.

And why the hell am I still up? This is yet another night of no sleep for me. Day two. I think my brain will not turn off because I am afraid to slow it down and let the thoughts settle in. Too many days of new memories popping up , especially when I try to sleep. I guess I need a break. I just wish I could still sleep and have that break. Well, I would be up in 4 hours anyways.

TW: violence and animal cruelty :( - musing on memories

My dad took me to this dog fight when I was very little. I remember it being far out away from any city or town - down this long winding road that led to this open field. He didn't tell me where we were going. He never told me where we were going - or he would lie. It always bothered me, the not nothing. Will I be safe?

It was the worst place I can even imagine. I am sure there are rings of hell surely devoted to this. It was an assault on the senses as soon as we walked in. The smell of stale beer violated my nose. The shouting and cheering and drunken banter seemed way to loud for my ears. The mass of people inside, milling around, shouting, cheering, fighting - that sense of danger in the air as sharp as a winter's wind. Every instinct of mine was telling me to get out of there. But I had no choice but to stay.

Mounds of dull and stained hay were lined up everywhere. It seemed to make up the walls and the fighting arena. Fighting arena. How can these things even happen? I always thought that strange. But there I was, this small little child, in the middle of a world of fighting and decay, of strangers and beer, blood stained hay and so much pain.

I remember there was this beautiful dog . Crunched into a cage too small for him. His owner was Beating him with a stick. BEATING HIM. I could FEEL every time that wooden stick came down on its body. I winced with it. My father said it was to make the dog angry so it would fight better. My heart sank - I could not even listen.

Over and over, he was beaten. His mouth was snarled and drooling, his body shaking, his eyes - so much pain, glazed over in anger and self defense. This dog was not angry - he didn't want to fight - he was protecting himself. I knew what it was like to BE that dog. They threw him in that cage and teased him and beat him. Put raw meat in front of his cage, just out of his reach - what great depths they went to to rid him of anything he had left of himself. Nothing but his shell of bones and muscle.

I remember I started crying. Not a silent cry - but a full body cry with snot and drool and everything. I SCREAMED at that man to stop hurting the dog. I ran to his cage and tried to rescue it. It snapped and growled. It did not know I was there to rescue it. It only new pain and suffering. I understood that dog. His owner pushed me back into the crowd to get away from him. My dad yelled at me to shut up and go outside.

My heart was hurting for the dog I could not save. For myself that I could not save. For the swirls of blood and snarling, for the images of caged dogs being beat. The smell of beer and sweat. The danger that I could not put my finger on. For metal bars of cages and that thrumming of the stick on each bar - constant noise and confusion. The cries of pain and terror from these animals. The blood.

I remember when my dad's dog had puppies. They were the most innocent sweet little things and I loved them all. But there was one I loved most of all - the runt of the liter. He was so special. There was something about him, and only him, that made me love him even more. Maybe I saw myself in him, the runt. The one no one chooses. The weaker one.

So my dad and my sisters were out in the yard p playing with these pups. And my dad kept taking them and making them climb up this couch - but it was the back of the couch , so it was a straight vertical climb for these little guys. I watched in horror as he and my sisters made them climb straight up as they fell over and sideways and landed on the ground. There eyes were not even Open yet . They were so weak.

I clutched each puppy and took them away - getting yelled at and hit, over and over as I tried to save each one - especially the runt. They were so scared. My heart was broken. I tried to save them. My dad and sisters thought this was so funny, this plight of these puppies. I didn't understand. I told them to stop, to leave them alone. But after being hit so many times you just kind of learn to stop. I could not save them.

The runt was picked, by my one half- sister, and another dog as well, to keep. I was so happy and relieved that they chose the runt - I begged them to keep that one. He was so special and I loved him at first sight. I watched Runt grow up as I visited my dad on the weekends and lived with them during the summer.

My dad BEAT those dogs though. BEAT. I would watch, helplessly as he did just like the guys did at the dog fight, taking a stick and coming down , onto his body, so hard with full force. Onto Runt. He would cry and slink back to protect himself. Another whack, hard on its back - a snarl, gnashing of teeth - such a maddening , high pitched cry. Yelps of pain. My heart broke with every whimper. I wanted to run to him, to save him again. To protect him and keep him safe. Oh god, I didn't save him at all .

One day I came over to spend the weekend there. And runt was gone. Just a leash on the ground, attached to a metal fence. And a kicked over beaten down food bowl - empty. I asked them, with this high pitched squeal, where is Runt? They told me he had run away. My sisters were crying, my dad angry, his girlfriend ( wife at the time saying horrible things about Runt and how she never liked him.

And me, I was filled with such elation and joy - Runt had run away! I was so happy because, it doesn't matter if he was alone or hungry, scared or lost, and even if he died - he would be better off He would be better of, even if hes hungry or scared, lost or even if he died - better off? YES! And I don't know what struck me to ask this question of myself, but I did: Do you think maybe that is how You felt about Yourself? Even if I am hungry or scared, lost or even if I died, I would be better off? Yes. That is exactly what my little heart felt. And now, as an adult, I do not even know what to do to sooth her, to make everything okay. I don't think there is anything. I think she should run away like Runt, and be better off.

This is my letter to my therapist. If THIS doesn't work, to get her to understand me, my needs and what is going on, it is hopeless and I will have to find another therapist. And I do not want to have to go through that whole process again but I really feel unheard and that is so harmful for me. I hope I explained everything okay. I think I did.

I am so nervous about reading this aloud to her. I am scared I will cry. I have not shown any emotions to her, with her. There is something so vulnerable about expressing emotions to another human being. Ant this is so counter intuitive to how I have survived, keeping my traumas secret. Don't tell. Don't let anyone in. Don't express or show any emotions. Don't let anyone know what you are thinking. Fake happy. It will all be okay.

...random note to myself - I have let go of some of that all pervasive sorrow I have been holding for days now. I don't know how, I have not done anything. Maybe it is just going away on its own - maybe I am numbing myself up - that usually happens without my consent anyways. Whatever it is, I am grateful because I could NOT anyone.

I am going to keep coming back to this letter and changing it as needed .It will help that it is here and I can look at it when I am on cups. I am also going to force myself into the real world and get off of here for a while. Maybe I am focusing on the pain too much - I don't know. Time for some distractions. I wish to god I was not out of pot. That would have saved my ass right now. But I can not even get any until probs, not for a few months - I am flat ass broke.

I could clean the house ( lol, but I don't want to do that) - or - I can do some self care I guess. Maybe I need to spend some time in meditation, above thought and beyond thought. Thoughts are strangling me now.

The letter:

My self-protection narrative has skewed what I thought my experiences were. I can see and hear, feel and think about what happened, but I am torn between the self-narrative and that which actually took place. This is so Beyond just objective vs subjective.

This is important: The point is that I Cannot translate the feelings, thoughts, body sensations and memories of what happened to me in the memory that I shared with you, or to any young memory, to my adult self/It’s lost in translation/ My adult self does not understand what happened, physically. I need help taking my little me memories and translating this into adult words and accepting and holding, all the feelings, from both that child part of me that went through it and the adult part of me that is just realizing what really happened.. And no, I didn’t always really know about all of this. Most of this is NEW to me.

I Honestly did think that He had only just done a few sporadic things to me, but mostly, he just didn’t have good boundaries Yes, I seriously believed that. I’ve told myself it’s because there are cultural differences – frantically grabbing anything to hang onto for safety and to not have to look at it for what it is. The problem is that I convinced myself of these narratives ...until now. I only knew half stories before. I knew that something felt bad, but it was just a misunderstanding – it was really okay. And I came here, into therapy, seeking help for my trauma from the Other He. Not this one. I didn’t think there was really that much to talk about with this one – no big deal.

I shared this He with you as my first memory to speak because it is easier than the other, He. I am TERRIFIED of the Other He. I never gave this He much thought at all. But this is now fucking up my brain so bad – I am taking this all in, and I feel like I’m doing it alone because I can’t seem to share with you how I feel – that’s on me.

It has such an effect and I do not know how to accept this and what to do. I feel panicked about it. What do you do when that happens? I feel like, since I am just realizing now What he was doing and for longer than I realized – that it feels like it JUST happened because these memories are That new. I do not know what to do. This is NOT something I always known. And I didn’t explain that well enough I do not think, in our last session.

But this opened up everything. There was so much going on. And I have new memories, multiples ones, every damn day. But that’s okay – because at least I remember, at least I know. And I feel like I cannot tell you because you don’t want me to be distressed. I feel like I have to keep secrets, even from you. I am not saying I want to tell you everything that has happened to me and all at once and then just sit there in the aftermath and suffer. I don’t. But I do want to feel free to bring things up as they come up for me – or as they assault my mind, or memory or senses. Because I need to process them as they come, I think.

I am just so tired of holding secrets and I feel like: great, more memories – what to do I do with them, how to I process, how do I think about them? How am I supposed to feel? What do I feel? This Does change who I am – this does change everything for me. Each memory comes in and changes things up. Maybe one day that can all be for the better – but I must go through the muck to get there. I have to feel and express these things.

And I am so scared of that. Scared I will lose myself in it, or that I am underserving of your compassion. That I am making a big deal about nothing or being oversensitive and I end up just feeling embarrassed. And even the fear that if I feel them, I will die. And I know you said that is because how I was feeling during the abuse – but I need to hear that, maybe over and over again, until I can understand that with all of me and accept it. Because I really fear I might die. You don’t understand, I have adult thoughts, but I do not have adult feelings – there seems to be a disconnect – when it comes to trauma. There is so much that I need that I have not been able to express. And my soul is breaking.

I need to feel all these things where it is safe, probably here in our sessions. I need to let down my guard. I need to know how to do that because it goes against all my self-perseverance. Hell, I am still learning to speak, to use my voice. I need to be able to tell you what’s hurting me and to express emotions with you. I know I have a poker face all the time – I am not used to expressing feelings in front of others – this is how I kept my secrets safe. I need to be able to share with you the new memories as I am getting them because I can’t do this alone. And the body memories are so shameful and terrifying, and I cannot tell if I am present and even if I am, the sensations are still there. I am ashamed of them. I need to talk about this, too.

And the blanks, I need to know what to do with all these blanks in the story where I have no memory, or I had just left and dissociated. I need to be able to name the He and take back my power. I need to know how to have him in my life now because I have just been ignoring his calls for weeks. I need to fall apart when I do name him and know that falling apart is okay. I need to tell you about him, and other him, and her, and the other her. I need you to push me a little more because it is so easy for me to stay silent and keep things in.

I

I got sleep, finally , last night. I eventually broke down and just took my anxiety meds, lol. They knocked me out and I was able to get a few hours of really good sleep. I feel so much better. I probably should have done that 3 days ago, bwhahahahah. I just hate having needing to make meds. But between the sorrow and the anxiety - ugh, it was much need. But after getting sleep ( finally) I feel like I have a better outlook - I feel more like me. ( The Sorrow, it's gone ).

Today is my therapy appointment. I READ the email to her. ( And yes, I have practiced it aloud so many times until the words lose meaning.) I am actually really proud of myself for not emailing it, and instead, taking the chance and trying to use my voice to tell her these things. ( good job, here's a lollipop). Part of me is doing this because I NEED to learn to express how I feel, what's going on and what I need with my Out Loud Words. And tbh, part of me is doing this because I feel I was " in trouble" ( feels like I was, that and shamed - but this is my own trigger) for writing an email. I am kind of scared to email her and have her tell me to not do that again, or she didn't read it, or ahhh, to get in trouble with her. But, the biggest part of me is doing this because I Want to learn to use my voice.

I have a voice. My words have meaning and power. My voice matters. I have a right to speak, to express. I have a right to say NO and YES, and everything in between. I am still learning this and how to do this - I honestly do not feel that way now, but I WILL! I will not stop until I do feel this truth. it is my RIGHT, a right that was STOLEN from me, very early on - and I am now taking it back! It doesn't matter that I waited so long to take this back and it doesn't matter how long it takes.

Another thing I am going to work on, in therapy ( and hopefully eventually here, in my journal) I am going to Name the He(s). . . and eventually, the she(s). Name the relation. Take the power back by Speaking, aloud and in written form. I feel as long as I am SO AFRAID and SO ASHAMED to do this, they still have the power. I need to put the shame back onto them.

Sometimes this is all so overwhelming. I think, there is just so much I have to work through. I know it's not necessary to process Every memory in order to heal. Thank god. But I think, I am going to have to at least process the big ones ( and some smaller ones) from each main abuser, each rape as a teenager, and each random person that abused me as a child, too. And then I think, god, that's so much. How did this all happen to me? How did I even survive intact? And then to think of all the memories I still have yet to remember.

But the point is, I did survive. And somehow, even though I am suffocating under all the trauma, there is a way out - a way to wholeness. I don't know this way yet - but I know the way it is not, and I am going to do different things now. Not revert back to the old, the way that kept secrets in , hidden and covered. And today, I am going to speak my needs and my truths and Ask for what I need. And hopefully - be able to express emotions with and to my therapist.

That is so frightening - to express my emotions and feelings to and with others. This was never safe. Tis was self protection - the silence. It kept my secrets safely hidden away so I would not get into trouble. So that I would not get anyone into trouble. So I would not have everyone know, I am bad.

Bad - this word oozes with shame and self blame. Blame and self hate I want and will ( eventually) give back to my abusers.

...and I Know I have so much other trauma that falls into other categories than sexual abuse. The physical abuse from my father, the violence that was in my life, the damn pure chaos of my life and uncertainty forced on me. The verbal abuse and my internalization of that. My mother being so sick and in and out of the hospitals, her heart attack in front of me as a child ( and I could not even call 911, I was so scared and frozen), the hiss hiss puff of her machine and her death when I still need her and she left me with no one to love me or take care of me. The constant bullying when i was in grade school and elementary school. The words of that one girl when I sat down at the lunch table and tried to belong: " Nobody likes you. No one wants you here. Why don't you go kill yourself". Words I repeat back to myself all the time, still.

Abuse and trauma seeps into everything I do, see, hear and think and yes, feel. If I do not keep going forward, even when it hurts, towards healing, I will never be able to truly be free to be me and to live an authentic life with peace and without self hate. This, this outcome ( and I know I Will achieve this healing) will never happen unless I keep pushing through and doing the hard work - like today, reading the email and using my voice. And Talking about the abuse and my feelings and how I think without giving up and sitting in silence because its just too hard and unfamiliar to talk.

Today is a new day. Another chance to speak my truth.

..and mostly, all the ways in which ALL that SHIT changed me - made me hide my true self, hide from life itself. I want to see other people as potential friends instead of potential abusers or enemies.

I can't do this - I can't heal, I can't do therapy. I can't do life. I am beyond damaged. I can not even speak how I feel, I cannot even show emotions to another. It was not my therapist's fault - it's mine - I can not get this stuff out. And this stuff will destroy me if left inside. It has ruined every part of me and in every way . My entire life and every day in it, is colored by what happened.

I give up. I give up trying. Nothing is going to get better. I might as well just shove all this shit back into the bottomless pit within me and just say, fuck it all. I cannot be saved. I am not even worth saving.

It's probably good that I am so sick. I don't think it would even be a bad thing when I d-- anymore. Because maybe in d---h, I will get what I could not find in life, peace. I never asked to be here. I would choose to not bee, if I could. Not some heavenly afterlife or some changed form of energy - I want to notT exist. To have never been and to never be....I stopped taking my stupid inhaler for my lungs. I didn't know why - I was just sick of it not helping - maybe That too was for the better - maybe it will push this along faster. I do not care anymore. I have no reason to fight.

And I have been so damn proud of me not self harming for 5 years ( minus my slip up during /after a flashback that I didn't even know I was doing. I do not care I have been self harm free - it means nothing. Because you know what? You are a piece of fucking shit bliss. You are a joke. You are so damaged and past the point of fixing ANYTHING.

I officially retire from the self harm free club. That is my Only friend. That is The ONLY way I can deal with all of this. That is what I DESERVE. It WAS your fault - if it weren't, you'd be better, you would be able tp get help, you would be able to be a fucking human being and express your feelings and thoughts out loud. But no, you sit and poker face and hide everything, even knowing that you can't heal like that, you stupid bitch. . . Maybe he doesn't want you to heal - you fucking worthless dumpster. You are an embarrassment, a disgrace, a looser. You can't do anything right and I HATE YOU. Give up you piece of shit - shit, that is what you are - everyone knew it and now everyone knows it now.

You can't talk? You can't express? You are wasting the therapist's time. At least be respectful of THAT you fucking bitch. Selfish, ugly, lazy, hateful , worthless waste of a human life. You waste the air you take up and the space you take up. You have no right to be here. Go ahead and self harm, there's nothing keeping you from doing it anymore. - you deserve it and that is the only way to get the emotions out or cope - that is all you have left. Nothing else. Only that. I HATE YOU. You think they punished you, I can do worse. How dare you try to get help - you are the CAUSE of this, you do not get to have help - only people who deserve help can. I will fucking keep you silent for the rest of your pitiful existence you fucking whore. You will never get help - you are not worthy of it. And she knows it , everyone does. You think that the abuse was their fault? WRONG. It was YOUR fault - they chose YOU because they KNEW, everyone knows - you are shit. You are a thing to be used as people see fit. I will hurt you so bad you will never think of talking or daring to get help. No one can help you. I will punish you so fucking bad - you think you have had pain - I can cause you so much more pain. And you will love it you nasty fucking bitch .

I am completely broken.

I am completely alone.

I am completely damaged beyond repair.

I am not coming back to this journal.

I am not coming back to anything.

I am just done.

With Everything.

I resign life.

It was a wasted life, anyways.