Why I’m Angry with my Counselor

The anger started when I realized his schedule was a little more open and we could have had a longer appointment like I had first requested.  But the longer I thought about it, I realized I am angry with him because he is not my father.  And can never be my father.

He has been very caring and compassionate towards me and I can imagine him being a wonderful dad to his daughters.  He has taught me how to delight in my children, show enveloping love, and how to always be concerned about their sweet spirits.  I want the kind of dad that would delight in my every thought, guide me to be the woman that God created me to be, protect me from all the world’s harm, or at least provide shelter from the storm.  I want that.  I deserve that.  It’s not too much to ask, right?

But instead, I was given a dad that only saw me as a means to get his own needs met.  A dad that never saw me as a daughter, just a free body to abuse and a soul to distort.  A dad that chose to twist my mind to make me believe I was at fault for all the evil he did to me.  I was given a father that never thought about how to guide me through this life but instead taught me how to always put his and others needs above my own.  A dad that taught love intentionally wounds, abuses, and looks out only for itself.

Instead of delighting in me, he pleasured himself with me.  Instead of protecting me from evil he introduced me to and involved me in his evil.  Instead of treating my soul with gentle hands he crushed it then walked away without a backwards glance.  Instead of spending time getting to know me he spent his time abusing me until the day I was too old and started to disgust him.  After that time, he had zero interest in me.  He couldn’t even feign enough interest in me to carry on a conversation.

I am ANGRY.  I am FURIOUS.  I am without a father.

Me, abused by a female?

I was just now reading another bloggers post about the creation of a webpage set up to educate and support those who have been abused by a female abuser. (http://pafpacorg.wordpress.com/)  And it hit me.  That includes me.  ME.  I feel sick to my stomach now.

I’ve always had the memory of the abuse.  I’ve always known.  I even mentioned it to a counselor once.  And I’ve even read about this blogger’s webpage before.  But I swear I never thought that I had a legitimate reason to join the group.  I often read this blogger’s site but I  thought I was reading it because we both had been sexually abused, not because we were both abused by a woman. I didn’t know I belonged to that group.

I just don’t think I can handle this right now.  I really feel like I’m going to be sick.

I am NOT okay.

It took me 1 1/2 hours to say to my counselor. “I am NOT doing okay”.  I hung my head in shame and silence the entire time.  I had no words, no emotions, just pain.  I was frustrated when I walked out thinking I had wasted my counselor’s time and my time and money.  But, now I am feeling relieved.

Relieved someone knows the truth.  Relieved I don’t have to pretend anymore.  Relieved because now I am no longer alone in the pain.

There’s been a memory that has been haunting me lately.  One of those that just hangs around, always there.  And I can’t seem to get away from it.  I suspect it is going to be the impetus to feeling all this pain that has been buried for years.  Maybe that’s the source of all these suicidal thoughts that have been scaring me.

I was told today that THE PAIN IS MY VOICE.  And that my voice should not be silenced.  I am just glad that I’ve let my counselor in just a bit to help carry some of the load.

My Fear of Anger

I am supposedly in a safe place now.  Safe at home, safe at my counselor’s office.  So why can’t I let my guard down?  My counselor and my husband have shown themselves to be trustworthy but the idea of unmasking all the emotions that have been bottled up inside of me all these years terrifies me.

So, what’s in there?  Fear of course.  That emotion I can readily feel.  Anger?  That emotion causes the fear to rise high enough to make me hide.  My counselor gently suggested that rage might be in me somewhere and that is what is driving the suicidal thoughts.  To me the suicidal thoughts are more about escaping.  But, as we explored what I was escaping (pain) and what was under the pain we kept coming back to anger.

I have never felt anger at my abusers.  Just the idea of being angry at one of them makes me tremble.  I fear anger for several reasons.  One, I can see that it would be violent anger….like bloody… towards ME.  That is frightening.  But, also, I can see it as violent and uncontrollable once it comes out.  What if I turn into a tornado and literally destroy everything in my path?  And I know that would be wrong so I have to keep it all contained.  But if I contain this anger much longer it may kill me one way or another.

And this leads to my second great fear of anger.  Abandonment and Rejection.  Can I gather enough trust in my counselor to see if he can handle the anger?    What if he rejects me?  No longer wants to counsel me?  Decides he cannot “handle” me?  What if he abandons me?  This might be too much to risk.



The Battle

Swirling pain, drowning sorrow, someone or something drawing me downward.  The fear to believe, the terror to feel, knives and wounds cutting torment.  Scalding burns, gut wrenching flight, swiftly, silently, savoring the scent.

STOP. Get off the train.  Rationally think of support and care, make sound decisions, right and good.

Tears and screams, let me go to the escape that calls me home.  Sliding down, whirling time, dizzy oblivion, intoxicating high.  Savage speed, memory comes, swallow fast, run farther.  Uncontrolled floating, no body or mind.  No sight, no sound.  Dissolving thoughts, intensifying desires, enveloping darkness.

Three children, husband and friend.  Find the light, just hold on.

Take me away, let me go.  Slipping memory, quickly justifying, rushing, running, taking flight.  Unrestrained abandon carries me away.  The whisper, the call, I hear it now.  “Consent to give your all, your life, your heart.  All that exists is the pain, no being, no soul.  There’s no life in the pain.”

Confusion, Pain, Loss, Love.  Stop, Go, End, Begin.

Who wins the battle?  Who ends the war?



Confusing Scary Night

Music and pills are a dangerous combination for me.  After two weeks of listening to music I know I shouldn’t, I gathered the pills I needed and headed out on the road.  Driving is another dangerous component.

Almost two years ago, before my diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), I drove out of state in order to hide so my body wouldn’t be found until the pills had done their job.  I drank excessive amounts of alcohol the entire trip, never using a credit card and deactivating my phone so my movements couldn’t be tracked.  I parked in a busy parking lot near a heavily wooded area with plans to walk in and get lost.  But hours later instead of taking the walk, I texted my counselor.  He and his wife ended up driving out of state to come get me.  That night began my starting to trust my counselor.

This past Thursday, with the car, the music, and the bottles of pills I drove for three hours on a spiral downwards toward suicide.   Somehow in the midst of all the confusing thoughts I was having, I stopped by my house to email my counselor:  The subject heading was “struggling, maybe

My thoughts are so confusing right now.  I told myself 30 minutes ago I was going to send you an email but now  it seems either there’s no reason to tell you (“things are fine”) or I’m being weak/stupid for telling you.  For a couple of weeks I’ve been going between the thoughts of “I’m fine, not feeling anything bad or negative” to planning on gathering the supplies needed to hurt myself.  Today when Bill asked I told him I didn’t know how I was feeling and when he asked the same question  he has asked for a year and a half if I was in a dangerous place, for the first time I knew I was but I lied and told him I was “fine”.  I’ve gotten the pills, the music, but I can’t seem to decide to go buy the alcohol to mix with the drugs.   Or, I just haven’t done that yet.  There’s no plan to take them…but they’re hidden, as are my thoughts.  But if you were to ask what was bothering me I couldn’t tell you.  I cannot think of any triggers.  I just keep thinking I need to DO something, like take the pills and the alcohol.  I’ve been out driving around since Bill got home but came back just to send this email with plans to head back out.  But I swear there’s nothing wrong, no more memories, not feeling sad or angry, not thinking about past memories.

His Response:  It’s important to “un-lie” to [your husband] and tell him the internal war you’re in. Let him be your God-given shelter. Also, where are you as far as going to God with where you are and letting Him be your good shepherd? Also, being on the road usually means running from something. What did you think of my email two nights ago where I put words to what the 14-year-old might be struggling with (that is, the happiness she felt watching your two children playing, the longings for happiness, being in relationships where trust is possible [with your husband], with me),  being in conflict about whether to trust)? Could those issues be at least part of what is all stirred up inside?

Me:  I really didn’t feel anything, I mean, no emotions anyway (to answer your last question).  And now, when I go back to read that other email, the words just seem very foreign.  About telling [my husband],  I can’t because I’m not ready to hand over the pills that I have or anything else.  Monday I wrote to God about all the tangles and confusing thoughts but it felt forced, I don’t know, not personal.

Me again:  Can I tell him that I am struggling but not tell him about the pills I’ve gotten?  But if I tell him I know he’ll look in my purse and find them.  I don’t know.  It’s not about being suicidal, I mean I guess I want to take the pills and stuff but I don’t want to die.  It’s just so confusing.  I don’t know if I can decide to tell him or not.

At this point, my counselor calls me.  He tells me he cares and starts asking questions.  My 14 year old comes more fully out and we find out she’s the one that’s so suicidal.  I say “we” but evidently my counselor knew all along.  After telling him I can’t tell my husband because I absolutely have to keep all the pills with me, and I begin sobbing at this point, he asks me if I am safe.  I know I am not.  Then he gently reiterates that I need to tell my husband.  After some more crying I agree.

The 14 year old was out the rest of the night, crying for a long time because she didn’t want her pills and music to be taken away.  The fear of the pills being taken away consumed my whole body.  Being suicidal wasn’t the scary part, but no longer having the means of achieving that end was frightening.