“What’s on your mind right now?”
Tell her. “I don’t know. Nothing.” I say, as I fight tears back but they come anyway.
“Nothing is happening? It’s empty?”
I have to tell her. Just say it. “No, it’s just I…can’t say it.”
“What if you write it down?”
I am the worst. Why is this so hard? Why did I have to ruin everything Sunday night. Everyone is going to be so disappointed. “I can’t even write it down. I’m so ashamed. Sorry. I need to just say it.”
“Ok, what does it start with?”
Congratulations she has to walk you through spelling it out because you can’t just talk. “‘I.’ It starts with ‘I.'” FUCK I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH.
Tears spill, words spill. “I purged last night.”
I search for disappointment in her eyes but I can’t definitively see through all the tears pouring out. “I let everyone down and myself down and it would have been 4 months on Thursday, and I really thought I would never do that again. I really thought this one thing was done. But it’s not and we keep having to revisit the same things over and over and over.” I am rambling and crying and feel shame in every inch of my body. All the same shame I felt before, during, and after Sunday night. That’s the way it happens for me. One shameful memory triggers all the rest of the prominent shameful memories and soon I fully believe I will never recover and don’t deserve to exist.
She says and does all the things that usually help me find truth and reality, and feel loved and hopeful. But I leave at the end of the hour feeling too raw to continue the day and with each passing hour her words become increasingly fragmented until I can only hear my own hateful messages again.