Dear Therapist~ I hate you because you are her

You said I need to work toward being independent. That you’re not always available and I should have the skills to ‘soothe’ myself and get through the night. I shouldn’t be ‘dependent’ upon you for ‘comfort’ at night when I FEEL as though I can’t keep myself safe. That sounds blaming to me. Like I am a drama queen trying to manipulate you at night and I don’t really need you, which really contradicts what you said on Friday, that you don’t think that, but now I think that you do. So I guess what I need to do is ‘suck it up and get over it’ ~ and NOT call you because that’s not what I *need* ~ and certainly you would know better than I. It doesn’t matter anyway; you’re going to believe what you want…

And I don’t know how to show you how much I struggle at night. When I can’t stop it, when I go from 0-100 in 30 seconds and I find myself reaching for the ativan and the alcohol before I curl up into a fetal position on the floor, rocking myself for hours in an unsuccessful attempt to make it stop. My mind races, replaying scenes over and over, trying to escape, wondering why no one will help me. “I will be here in the ways that I can and though the form of this will change, it will continue, just at it will be there tonight and nights to come.” What does that mean exactly…the ‘form of this will change’? Already planning the next change?

I'm sorry that the angry and scared and sad little girls take over at night and I can't control them. And I'm sorry it happens during the times when you ‘can’t be here’..when you aren’t here, when you’re busy, when it’s not within the 15 minute availability you have when you’re driving from one destination to the next, and you have ‘time’ to talk to me. That’s just the way it is for me. I don’t ‘program’ it… it’s not on TIVO…it happens, and sometimes I can stop it but sometimes not. Some nights I can’t get the smell out of my nose and it doesn’t matter how many candles I light. Some nights I can’t stop the nausea no matter what I try. I used to be able to push it aside, or just force it into non-existence. But not anymore. Some nights there isn’t enough booze or ativan in the world that takes it away.

I’m sorry I became so ‘dependent’ upon you. Believe me, it was the LAST thing I wanted! I fought it, I despised it…but you WERE THERE! Every single night, you were there, always there, and I began to trust you and believe you and then I became dependent on you to help me. And you encouraged it – even if you don’t see that! You were there for me when no one else has been, not like that. And I’m sorry that you suddenly snagged a boyfriend, and suddenly I became too dependent and life draining. I’m sorry I feel sick and tired and fragmented all the time and you don’t have the ‘availability’ or desire to ‘be here’ now. And I’m sorry I begged you to help me. I’m sorry for all of it. Mostly, I’m sorry that I trusted anyone. And I’m sorry that I’m still alive because I’m sure it’s draining to everyone. And I was never wanted in the first place. Did you really think I could change that thought process? Did you really think after hearing how unwanted and unloved I was for 16 years that I would somehow believe that I mattered to anyone (well, when it wasn’t “CONVENIENT” for them)? I guess maybe at first you did, but then you must have realized that it wasn’t going to happen, huh? My mother may be crazy but she must have been right.

See, I so wanted to be normal; I wanted to be like everyone else and so I pretended that I was. But I’m not. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. I have been shattered into a thousand screaming pieces, and I cannot even find all the pieces, there's no way to put them back together. And the few who know the 'real' me, they say, “Grace, you made it, you survived, you could have died, but you didn’t. You persevered you were ‘strong’. “ And in response, I want to say, don’t you get it? Don’t you understand ~ I really did die, this isn’t living. There’s nothing inside of me…I don’t have the capacity to love, I don’t believe in intimacy; I shake at the thought of being touched. I’m an empty shell walking around half wishing I’d be hit by a train or a car, even the city bus. Sometimes I lie in bed and wonder where my guardian angel is take me away. Please, just take it away. I'm begging you to make the pain end.

And on those dark nights, when I have to watch the movie of the week, over and over again ~ how I hate you for not being here, when I have to be here. How I hate you for not scooping me up in your arms and holding me close to you, telling me I will be okay, that you will help me stay safe. I never asked for it. I didn’t want it then, and I don’t want to deal with it now. How I hate you in these moments, when you are not here, when you are her…when you could give a shit less about me. How I hate you when she is so scared and another is to angry to call you, because you said we are too dependent on you….so if it kills me, I will NOT call you, I choose to die first! How I hate you when the tears won’t stop falling and my breath quickens and he’s here again, and you don’t care, you just sleep peacefully oblivious to all of it. How I hate you as my hands are shaking and I try to remember how many ativan I’ve taken and if I can take just one more. God, how I hate you when the pain is so powerful it takes my breath away and my entire body feels like it’s on fire; thoughts, hands, smells, fear.

How I hate you because you are her, the host body…and I could NOT depend on her, I knew that, I learned that early on. And then you came along and I somehow unlearned that and now I can’t depend on you either. God how that makes me hate you. Right now, as the lump in my throat threatens to cut off my ability to breathe, as the tears are like a faucet I’m unable to turn off, as my head aches and my chest feels too tight, as the waves of nausea keep me 5 steps from the bathroom. Tonight as my eyes continuously scan the area around me, refusing to close, as my body is on high alert, tense and ready to flee…I really hate you. I really hate you. Tonight I really hate you. I hate you for not caring, I hate you for saying I’m ‘dependent’ on you. I hate you because I trusted you. I hate you because you showed me how to ‘feel’ the pain and then you left me to deal with it.
I hate that you cared.
I hate you!