Therapy

I've done it.
[therapy]


A few times.


When I lived with my dad and was FORCED into talking to a woman I didn't want to talk to, I reacted as most children in my position: Mouth shut, Arms crossed, No eye contact. I knew better than to talk to her. If I said anything she wasn't sure of she would call my dad and he would make sure I paid the price for what I said. I sat silently in her office 2-4 times a week for almost 5 months.


The weekend before I became the world's biggest rat- as my father affectionately nicknamed me- was one of the worst of my life. While outside playing with my step-brother, I was hit in the back of the head with a 20lb cement block. It was an accident but we knew if we told the truth we would both be in more trouble than the giant hole oozing blood from my head. So we quickly came up with the only lie we could, knowing it would not work. But we swore to never tell.

"A tree limb fell out of the woods and hit me in the head!"

Yes, really. 

My head bled for the next 2 days. Most parents would have rushed their child to the Emergency room for stitches but mine? Oh no. They sent me to Nana's the next day and she DEMANDED they take me to get it looked at. By that time it had been way more than the usual 12 hour rule they have for stitches.... so they shrugged and said to keep it clean. Why did the Dr not question the reasoning behind it taking 2 days to get me to a hospital? 


That night, yet another famous fight took place. While holding my dad back, my step-mother threw a glass at him and missed completely. It shattered above our heads, showering us with glass. My step-brother spent the next 3 hours in our bedroom with a flashlight picking pieces of glass out of my hair with a pair of tweezers. 


The next morning I got to school and my therapist plucked me out of the hallway and into her office. 


"Are you okay?.... Do you want to talk about anything?.... Is there anything I can do for you?.... There's nothing you cannot tell me.... Oh, I wish you would just open up to me!"


I lost it. 


"Open up to you? You want me to open up to you? Why? So you can call him and piss him off before I get there? They drink. They hit each other. The cops come. The cops leave. If the COPS can't make it stop what can YOU do? You think you're trying to help but you're not! SO JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. There I opened up to you. Can I go now, please?"


She didn't say a word. She stood up, walked out of the room and didn't return until she was with my mother over an hour later. My mom was furious. I got to go to my classroom and say goodbye to my best friend at the time - I'll never forget that. 


When I moved back in with my dad in High School, forced me into therapy again. He seemed to think I had been through a lot- ha! I wish he could see me now. 


Our first session was a "Meet & Greet" with my family. My father drunkenly admitted he had a drinking problem.

"Of course I drink! I'm an alcoholic. That's what we do."

Later that week at my first one on one session with the therapist, she asked how comfortable I would feel confronting my fathers drinking problem. I was terrified. I begged her not to. I told her it would not work- it never worked. But she didn't listen. She just could not understand the consequences of her actions.


The next afternoon when I got home from school my dad was PISSED. He announced before the door even shut behind me that I was grounded until further notice. When I asked why, he locked me in the bathroom for 2 days. When he let me out Sunday evening, he said we would not be returning to our family therapy session since I couldn't keep family business within the family. 

"What happens in this house stays in this house."

The next time I went to Therapy was shortly after my husband and I got married. We had few fights that went a little too far and wanted to talk to someone about it. We need to learn to communicate. We are doing better, but we're still learning. We work on our relationship every single day. 

We went to 2 sessions... and I found myself reliving memories I have fought very hard to bury. Many years and tears have gone into moving past that and I'm not sure I'm ready to say it out loud and see the look on someone's face when I repeat stories of my life. It's embarrassing. I don't care what anyone says.

Abuse is embarrassing. 

And I'm just not ready. I'm hoping maybe this will help in a way therapy can't. A release without the pressure of a reaction. I know someone's reading this, I see the views. 

I hope that someone can read this and understand or relate to where I'm coming from... Knowing someone has been there makes all the difference. Or not even necessarily sympathy (or empathy) just someone to maybe hear me out... someone to listen to my side, without judgement. Without someone butting in to contradict every other detail. This is MY story. Plus, I have no reason to lie. I'm an anonymous blogger with 10 views.