I had therapy today. It was kind of intense because I talked about the dream I had about S. and the fear that had been lurking in me since. And I started crying, which is kind of unusual because I haven’t cried in therapy for a couple months. I feel like it should have been a breakthrough session because I could tell that she seemed to think that “You need to forgive yourself” would be an epiphany for me. I’m meant to write a letter to myself, forgiving myself. Standard therapy fare, although I don’t know why I’m being resistant. That’s what we pay for; therapy is known to help. I KNOW it helps me, I know I need it, so I oughtn’t to be cynical at all. I guess I’m reluctant to “forgive” myself because it seems conceited or weak. Even though everyone I’ve talked to about this has said it was his fault, etc. I still know I did wrong. I’m sorry for being so vague- if anyone is reading this- but I’m not sure it would be the right thing for me to write about what happened on here. I wouldn’t want people from my real life to somehow find it.
Anyways, I think maybe I hold on to everything that has hurt me like a hair shirt. Mortification of the flesh. Because at times, I just hate myself so much. I’m fighting that, but it’s almost easier to view myself with disgust. Why is that easier? It’s intensely painful. It’s anguish. Wouldn’t it be easier and better to just let go and be free? Stop trying to hurt myself, starve myself, torture myself with the memories?
