Maybe I need more structure to the therapy session. I lose focus in the fog of anxiety and separation from present and past. Most sessions I feel is a disappointment – to me, to others. It feels chaotic and like I always miss the mark. I hide things, how ridiculous is that, I’m paying you money and I hide things, I’m ashamed and embarrassed that you’ll actually see my disgustingness.  Talking in the abstract is different to saying what I have done and what has taken place. I don’t think you would be a judging person, but you wouldn’t be able to not judge me. Maybe I have to hide, so that makes it not real. Or maybe I just like holding on to it?

Sometimes i think how I’ve sold myself out by things I have done and my current choices, but then I think there’s is nothing to sell, theres nothing there. Confusion between being nothing and being disgusting.

Thinking a lot about my father being the person that did give me some nurturing, while also being depressed and absent, and violent at times, and abusive. But I so wanted to mean something to him and wanted him to care for me – at least until I was a bit older and was so conflicted, and afraid and then I hated him. I hated him for doing what he did, and once I really knew what he did and was continuing to do I hated him for making me hate him. I was angry that he ruined something, I’m not sure what. There were times I really considered telling someone about him just to get at him, not for me, but so I could hurt him, punish him. That was after he mostly stopped, early high school. But then I thought that in doing that people would also find out about me, and I didn’t want people to find out about what I had done and who I was.

He would say “I still love you, you know” after he stopped but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t believe he could love me. How could he love me? He wasn’t loving me. I wasn’t loveable. But I was also glad that he wasn’t ‘loving’ me.

I can’t stop the belief that it has something to do with who I was, what I did, and that I somehow attracted it or called for it. Its hard not think that from what others have done but also vile and disgusting things I have done.

How did I end up in a relationship with someone who I cannot connect emotionally to, and does not / can not connect to me. How cliched. I feel so insignificant and never good enough with her. I know I already have that, but its more than that. It is not just my self perception.

But I cannot word that and say that and explain that.

Trapped.

Whats the way out.

Maybe its skills I need to learn? Despite having some theoretical knowledge and understanding of what is wrong with me, that does not seem to be helping me actually change or do what I think is needed.

I cant do this on my own, I clearly don’t know how to do this. I am quite capable of ‘surviving’ and getting by, I do it every day. But maybe I have reached the extent of that and it is running out. And I’m not sure that’s enough to keep me.

Where’s the ‘7 easy steps to becoming normal’ manual? Or maybe ’10 days to a non disgusting and happy you’ program?

I fear it may be an unwinnable fight with me creating wounded people along the way, only to end up in the same starting battlefield, and with less energy.

Maybe I am narcissistic? It feels like all I think about is me and my images and how disgusting I am. Does that not indicate narcissism? Thinking about how much I don’t want to be here even though there is nothing really wrong with my life, I have ‘everything’, and yet I can’t move on from whats wrong with me.

Sometimes I can see things he’s doing and it’s not me – I know its me but I’m watching from the ceiling corner of the room. I can see but there’s no sound and its like a thick wall of glass between me and them.

For most of my life, from when I was a teenager at least, there have been periods when I would have intense anxiety where I would be in that position looking down at them and then I would be rushing or flying towards them and be so close my face would almost be touching them, and then I would be rushing away, and that would go back and forth until it was so quick I could hardly breathe.

Maybe because sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Of course I could, I’m still here but it wasnt great, particularly if i cried.

I guess it was a good skill to have learned, which I have been able to use when in situations I have not wanted to be in.

There must be a line where, once crossed, there is no returning or coming back from; presuming one was in the ‘whole’ place to begin with. It feels like I can never get to the other side; at times I have seen the other side but I am always having to lug myself and my bag of history with me and that prevents me moving.

It’s always here, with me, impacting on how I interact, what facade I need to put on. I feel like such a fake at times. The external feels vastly different from the internal experience.

He continued to touch me after he stopped doing other things, even when I was older, and I so knew it was not ok and that what he was doing was completely wrong but he did it anyway, and it feels like I continued to let him do it. I did avoid him, and tried not to be in the same room alone with him. I felt responsible in a different way because of how I had matured and what I wore and how I carried myself. And that he was in pain and lonely. And he still smelt, of sweat and alcohol.

I would prefer to not wake. This vileness is too big.

A time that I felt some freedom was for a few years when my parents had a caravan in a holiday park on the coast, we would go many weekends and I could be free and felt relatively left alone. There wasn’t the opportunity really for him to do to anything apart from be creepy and touchy. I was about 7 or 8 until 10 years.

I was upset when they decided to stop going.

I feel sick and not in control internally. So many thoughts and ideas and images. 

If I was branded as being like my father, I acted liked my father, I connected to my father, was abused by my father, hated my father, and negated by my mother, how can I pretend to be normal? My ‘functioning’ negates everything and then I can’t explain what happened. 

Talking about the relationship I had with them hits how lonely I felt and how I thought all the time there was something wrong with me. There was something wrong with me! 

There is something so wrong with me. 

It’s myself I don’t trust, not the process. 

I think that there must be something wrong or fucked up with me for needing to talk about / say the things he did. But I dont have the words or I am not able to release the words.