I went to my appointment with the therapist I have been seeing yesterday. That made the 4th time I have seen her. I suppose I am glad I went even though I spent a lot of time before thinking about canceling and trying to find another therapist. I told her about my horrible anxiety day on Thursday- how I felt so anxious and scared for no real reason. I told her how I was thinking so much about moving back to Kentucky and feeling guilty and ashamed that I had left in the first place. I have been feeling bad- like I abandoned my family- my responsibilities. I know this is ACOA crap, but that doesn’t make it any easier or any less real to me. I feel so ashamed all the time for no real reason. I am ashamed of everything I do- have done. I would give anything to be one of those people that can just say, “Oh well, I fucked that up!” and laugh about it and then forget it forever. I can literally sit down and name every single mistake I have ever made in my life since I was in 8th grade. I can tell you the wrong choices I have made and regret for the last 33 years of my life. I used to day dream a lot about being able to go back to that point and start over and change all my choices to what I would now consider to be the right ones.
Yesterday, my therapist said something like, “well, you’re not going back. you are better off here.” That felt really good- someone telling me what to do. I know that she really doesn’t know me or my situation well enough to say that and truly know she’s right- but I want someone to tell me what to do. I want someone to tell me what the right thing is. I want someone to tell me what to do so I can stop driving myself crazy thinking about it.
I’ve been thinking about this since I wrote it, and yes, what I want is someone to just tell me what to do. Or maybe someone to reassure me that I am doing the right thing. I need reassurance. I am trying my hardest to present the story of my past to my therapist in an unbiased manner. I am trying really hard to only state the exact facts of what happened so I am not skewing it in my favor. I try to figure out what I did wrong in every shitty situation- I always try to find the blame for myself. My childhood was extremely fucked up- that is a fact. My father was hospitalized 52 times before I turned 16 in order to dry out. That is a fact. My mother would make my sister stay home from school and babysit my father while he was drunk. That is a fact. My father would lay in his recliner for days with a fifth between his legs, yelling all night long, too drunk to even stand up, peeing on himself. That happened. That is a fact. The denial of the other members of my family doesn’t make this stuff not true. It all happened, no matter how much they try to down play it or say that it wasn’t that bad. It really was exactly that bad.