We sit here watching the seconds tick off the clock. Three hours from this moment we will be telling a trauma story face-to-face for the first time in our long life.
We have been told that this will feel great once it’s ovah. We have been told that this will represent a new and magical phase in our therapy. We have been told that T can handle it and she will think no less of any of us for hearing a disgusting horrific story.
The rational parts of the system get this. Unfortunately they have been completely overridden by whoever it is who determines these things.
****TRIGGER ALERT PLEASE BE VERY CAREFUL OR SKIP THIS PART****
We are afraid that once a story is out the rest will come bombing down the slopes like an avalanche, to suffocate and freeze us to death. We worry that T is going to can us for being just too big a job. We fear that we will piss and shit ourselves just as did the little girl whose story is to be told. We fear we will black out forever or at least to wake up in a nutward again.
But most of all we are terrified that we are gonna feel nothing. That we’ll discover the human parts of us were indeed f*cked out of us before we were old enough to be in school.
Nobody rescued us then and there’s nobody to rescue us now. Is what is. There has got to come some point where the scales of justice tip in her favor and we just don’t wake up.
The new girl is bleeding all over everybody else and it’s a royal pain. But we get the feeling that she’s not going anywhere until somebody can finally see her. She is here to teach us the lesson that people did these things to that poor little girl. She wasn’t born this way.
Unfortunately we never learned much abou safety or self-compassion so there’s no help to come. Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and Get into a fatal accident before that time. Something anything. Please.
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