Maybe I am just a total whackadoo. I could not wait to go to therapy today. Yesterday, my nurse practitioner who prescribes my mental health medications asked me if I had ever had surgery while we were talking about me having bariatric surgery. I replied that I had my wisdom teeth out with novocaine and then I took a really deep breath, and said that the closest thing I ever had to surgery was having an abortion. The NP did not blink or hesitate, just moved on. I was thankful for the fact that she did not try to dig. I had two abortions due to getting pregnant from being sexually abused. I lost another pregnancy due to having it beaten out of me. Thinking about the abortions and the other lost pregnancy yesterday made me cry, alot. Then I started thinking about my ob/gyn telling me about how difficult it would be for me to get pregnant and carry a baby (I was in my 30’s) due to all of the scarring I have. I actually never wanted to be pregnant; my wife and I adopted our boys. But what if I had wanted to be pregnant? Why do I have to have life long reminders of the abuse I went through? I am so freaking mad about that. When I went to therapy today, I intended to process that anger with MT, my therapist. Then I was late to therapy due to the crazy road construction around these parts. Being late to therapy, a whole 7 minutes, makes me extremely nervous. MT seems to take that lateness personally, like it’s a comment on not wanting to be there. Actually, I would have only been 3 minutes late, but I really wanted to stop for coffee. Usually though, I leave at the time I left today, stop for coffee, and am still 5-7 minutes early. Then, when I sat down, I encountered a problem that happens to me all the time. I don’t recognize faces. I recognize voices, hair, shoes, cars. But not faces. And it was like I had a problem recognizing MT today. She was wearing different shoes than usual. Maybe her hair was different. I don’t know. But I sat down, she asked me what I wanted to work on, and all of a sudden, I didn’t know it was her. I kept looking at her, and finally MT told me I was making her uncomfortable staring at her. So then I tried looking everywhere else in the room. I looked at the collage I made that represented being a warrior to me (the only piece of client artwork she has in her office), I looked at all of her pictures of horses, I looked at her tattoo on her leg. Finally, MT asked me if I could talk. I shook my head no. I had started wondering if talking about how mad I was at the permanent damage to my body and the thought of little babies being sucked out of my body, that this might be something that could shake her and tell me that she could no longer work with me. After 25 minutes, I was finally able to tell her what was going on in my head, and we did some talking, and then our time was done. Now I’m mad at myself for wasting that 25 minutes because I’m stuck with the anger and the grief. I can write it, but falling apart and crying or screaming with my wife and children around is just not okay with me. The other thing I’m grieving now, being sad and angry about, is that I trust MT more than anybody besides my wife. And sometimes, I’m afraid that my trust in her is a mistake. And that comes from two places. First it comes from telling my last therapist some stuff I had never said before, and her telling me that I was too traumatized to heal. That always makes me wonder where MT’s limits are, even though she always tells me she can take care of herself. Also, my family of origin always looked like a picture perfect family. The pictures in the family albums make me wonder if I’ve somehow made up all of the abuse. Also sometimes, our family would be like a real family, laughing and joking and playing together, until it wasn’t anymore and there was no warning. Sometimes, I wonder how long it’s going to be until the other shoe drops with MT. It certainly dropped with my last therapist after 2.5 years. So I’m mad about that too. Because I have to keep reminding myself that MT is not my parents nor is she my last therapist. One of MT’S favorite words is FUCK. Today, she told me that my parents really fucked with me and so did my last therapist. It’s true and I’m mad about it. And I still wish I had talked more today, because there was no real relief and now I have to hang on for 5 more days. Ugh.