Dear Therapist: I Can Finally Talk About The Abuse He Put Me Through

Dear therapist,

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken with you, but here I am. I can finally talk about my abuse. I’ve been holding it in for so long that it seems like it never happened. You know how I have a tendency to shut out those abusive memories and suppress my feelings. It’s not different this time either.

I had to dig deeper than I expected, but everything is coming to the surface now. I can feel tears down my cheeks as I write. Is that normal?

How am I supposed to react now when everything is forcing its way out? I feel like I’m going to drown and I don’t have a life jacket. I don’t have an anchor to help me while the storm passes. What am I supposed to do? Why won’t this lump in my throat go away?

I think I’m going to cry out a pool of tears like Alice in Wonderland did if these keep streaming down my face. But they won’t save me. They’ll be my punishment for letting my emotions get the best of me. And that terrifies me.

Dear therapist, I’m totally lost in my own thoughts. I’m trying to rationalize everything that’s showing up in my mind, but I’m failing. I don’t even know if these failures will eventually lead to that light at the end of the tunnel.

It hurts to think about everything that happened. It’s insanely painful and, recalling these memories feels like I’m back there again. I want to run away from this, but you’ve told me to be strong.

You’ve told me that I have to face my fears, for only then will I be able to love myself again.

I know it’s not my fault, but I just can’t shake the feeling that I could’ve done something before it all went downhill. How did I not notice all those red flags? Am I colorblind?

How did he trick me into believing that he was an angel? The great irony, he is one – Lucifer, the fallen angel, the ruler of Hell.

I know this may sound like I’m trying to justify what he did, but isn’t he the best at torturing people? Isn’t that a part of his job description?

I’ll never understand where he was drawing strength from. Maybe from the torture itself? From the pain and the horrors he put others through?

How can I heal now? Does writing this down count as the first step toward my old self? I hope bleeding on these pages is some kind of acceptance.

I’ll admit, he changed me and turned my life upside down. I think that at some point I was trying to slow it down. But I don’t know if I didn’t want him to rearrange my life according to his needs, or I just needed him to stay.

Being on my own, without him, is the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do. Even though staying with him was heart-wrenching, I chose it. My comfort zone bruised me, but for the longest time, I wasn’t ready to give up on it.

A toxic relationship is not what I wanted in my life, but there I was.

Never speak badly about someone, because you don’t know what they’re going through. I can hardly accept that I needed to go through such a bad experience to truly understand the meaning of that saying.

Is it normal that I want to apologize to every single abused woman? I want to apologize to her for the abuser, and I want her to forgive herself for not being strong enough to leave.

I want to ask each and every woman who stayed in an awful relationship forgiveness for criticizing them when I should’ve held my horses. Now I know how it feels.

There’s this unpleasant heat coming. It’s suffocating me and I can’t catch my breath. My heart starts racing and my palms start sweating. Why is this discomfort actually comfortable? Is this who I was all this time?

It seems like panic attacks are now my new normal state. How unfortunate this is?

Dear therapist, I feel like nothing good is left inside of me. Like every single drop of goodness I had has leaked out. Am I even a good person?

The thought that I’m broken is frightening! How am I supposed to collect my shattered pieces when I’m not sure how to put them together? I used to love puzzles when I was younger – should I treat my fragments as such?

Will I ever find someone who’s going to love me just the way I am, with all these broken pieces glued together? How am I going to love myself again?

I recall what you told me: I must fight for myself and be determined. I know I should never go back down to that cold well he threw me into, but it’s hard to jump up and out of that darkness. My legs aren’t strong enough, but I’m standing.

Dear therapist, I promise I’ll no longer compromise my worth and I will do anything I can to protect myself.