I had an odd session with my therapist last night. The regular one – not p-doc. I saw him today, but more on that later. *sigh*
I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow I ended up revealing the depths of my self hatred and stupidity to my therapist. Probably a good thing in the long run, I suppose, but I’d never intended to inflict that on her.
I felt so disgusting afterwards. So putrid and vile and hideous and poisonous and ugly and dirty and rancid and foul and, well, disgusting. Disgusting because my therapist now knows how disgusting I am. Disgusting because I’ve inflicted my filth on her. Disgusting, because, well, I’m just disgusting. I hate that I’m so disgusting, and I hate that she knows it.
Somehow we got to talking about gynaecological issues, which can be a big issue for abuse survivors (see this great post by Sword Dance Warrior). I talked about how difficult it is for me to have gynae exams, and how I’m dreading the upcoming internal ultrasound I have to have post-surgery. (Of all the medical issues… why did I get stuck with this? Why?)
Granted, this is something most women aren’t all that fond of. I don’t know too many women who do a happy dance when they’re going to the gynaecologist. But… it can be a bigger triggery, hellish experience for abuse survivors. Made worse by the brutish insensitivity of some health practitioners.
Not only is it triggery for me, but I also have this stupid thought that I can’t let a doctor I know do the exam, because then they’ll know how disgusting I am, and I won’t be able to face them again afterwards. Stupid, right?
One thing led to another and we got to talking about relationships and children (or the absence, thereof), and the stupid thought that always pops up for me, “Why would anyone love me?” Stupid again, right?
I was burning with shame for most of the session. I wanted to crawl into the carpet and just disappear. (Why doesn’t that floor ever open up when you need it to????)
Of course, my therapist didn’t think I was disgusting. Nor did she think I was stoopid. She was, as always, gentle and kind and supportive, and actually said some very positive things about me. Part of me is afraid to face her again for fear of contaminating her again, but I will.
A very good friend suggested I should write down all the positive things she said, so that even if I’m not ready to take it in now, I can go back to it. I haven’t yet, but I will. I guess I needed to process the toxic stuff first.
Now not only my therapist knows about the depths of my self-hatred and disgustingness, but the blogosphere as well. Nice comments only today please, people, I can’t take the other kind.