My next therapy session begins in less than 30 minutes.
I don’t know why.
I absolutely love these sessions. I look forward to them. I actually get excited.
Maybe this is foreshadowing a difficult hour upcoming. Maybe I’m full of shit. I really don’t know.
That’s not true.
I do know I’m full of shit.
I act like I’m in some kind of miraculous recovery. I’m not. I have enormous struggles and/or failures all of the time. I’m, figuratively, a scared little boy. I’m way out of my league here. I’m an emotional tween. I feel like I literally stopped growing the day that bastard…
I really don’t want to type those words again. The memories of my past haunt me enough. I relive the abuse all of the time. I relive the emotional and verbal abuse my parents heaped on me all of the time. I relive the sick and disgusting behaviors I displayed all of those years. I relive causing the pain in my wife’s life. I see the look on her face. I remember hearing her voice ask those terrible questions. I remember answering those questions. I remember the sound of her voice when she was displaying her anguish.
“Why did you do this to me?”
That shit doesn’t just go away. It will always live in my mind. There’s nothing I can do to ever make it go away. Those sights, sounds and pains. They haunt me daily.
I understand that, one day, I must confront my demons.
I can’t do it.
I’m too weak. I’m too inexperienced. I don’t have the tools. I’m terrified of what I’m going to see when I’m finally forced into it.
Will I crack up?
Will I be able to be strong enough to win?
I can’t ask for my wife’s help on this one. This ain’t her battle.
The ONLY hope I have is for God to intervene. I have no chance without Him.
5 minutes now.
Time to go duel the monsters.