I love therapy. I mean seriously. It is the absolutely best thing I’ve ever done in my life. Well aside from giving birth to my Little and marrying my Hubs. lol… the best thing I’ve done for myself alone. I regret never going before. I don’t care what anyone else says. Therapy is the best.
I’m feeling a little bit better, not quite as volatile emotionally, but still not back to my happy place. I’m having a severe crisis of conscious the closer we get to April and sharing details of my assault. Empathetic little me over here is worried about what will happen if my attacker ever stumbles across it and how it will affect him. Yeah… I know. The one man in the entire world who gave absolutely zero fucks about me or how his actions affected me, and I’m worried about how posting my story on an obscure, practically anonymous blog *might* affect him.
I’ve never been able to reach the hatred part of my recovery. That step has alluded me pretty much all together. I went right from delusion to grief, and it’s not grief for myself, but grief for my attacker. According to my therapist it’s a coping mechanism left over from all of the years of repression. I guess it’s fairly common, but that still doesn’t make it any easier. I’m recalling all of these horrible things i endured trying to drum up hatred, or even a little spite to move forward and yet I can’t. I simply can’t. It’s not there. My brain does not compute. Which that, my brain not cooperating, actually pissed me off. What is this? Where is the hatred? Why am I unable to hate this man?
The posts are already written and queued with a different author in charge of their publication. It’s going to happen. I’m going to do this. It’s the last damn piece of my recovery. I’m hoping my conscious will catch up with me here after I get started. Or get lost in the shuffle… whatever needs to happen to facilitate the rest of my healing.