Stripped away

A tearful, emotional wreck is what my therapist had to deal with today. Every bit of the hopelessness I've been feeling and trying to suppress since I was last in the hospital was regurgitated into the air of her office the moment I opened my mouth. The quickness with which it spewed forth and the heaviness of it all caught us both completely off guard.

NEVER have I broken down in front of anyone the way I did today and I'm still stunned that I wasn't able to prevent it from happening. I feel ashamed, vulnerable, naked...like all my protective walls were stripped away in a split second, revealing the weak, frightened little girl I've always kept locked behind them.

My T tried to assure me that it was okay to let it out. Said that I didn't need to keep up the same fake facade I do when I'm around my daughter, and everyone else, that everything is okay so they don't constantly worry about me, worry that I'm going to commit suicide. That her office was a safe haven to release all those emotions.

Why her? Why now? And most of all, why wasn't I strong enough to hold everything back like I usually do? Her biggest concern was of course for my safety. She kept asking if I should be in the hospital. When I said no, she said that she would accept that answer because apparently all my previous therapists at this center told her that I know best when I can no longer keep myself safe and need to be inpatient.

My response was if that were so true, then why did I try to kill myself earlier this year. Of course she knew nothing about that incident in April, and neither did anyone else at the center, because it happened before I started seeing her, but after my last therapist dumped me. I could tell it put doubt into her mind as to whether to believe me that I would keep myself safe. Could see her mentally wrestling with the thought, should I call 911 right now or not?

I told her I would try to get through the next week as best I could. If I drank too much or took too many pills in order to numb the pain to survive, then that was what I would do, and I wouldn't allow myself or anyone else to beat me up for resorting to such harmful measures. If it keeps me alive for another week, then as negative a coping skill as it may be, at least I coped in some manner and didn't end my life.

After seeing her, I headed to the dentist for my root canal. The procedure itself didn't hurt, but the after effects hurt like hell. Luckily they gave me a prescription for Vicodin, not knowing my desire to engage in some extreme self abuse. I now have Vicodin, Darvocet, tons of Valium, plenty of liquor and lots of razor blades at my disposal. I may not come through this next week unscathed, but I will hopefully at least make it through.