good therapy.

today i had a really awesome therapy session. i have been in therapy on and off since i was 18, and have cried three times in total.

1) 2003-The first time I cried was when my therapist asked me to imagine my life in 5 years. I saw nothing except despair and misery. I literally visualized black. When I say cried, I mean teared up profusely, but would not let myself fully cry.
2) 2004- saying goodbye to above therapist. He changed my life, and I will always be grateful to that wonderful dude.
3) Today, 2012- I told my therapist something really awful that happened to me, in like 2002. I guess I'll tell you too. it was something i remembered after watching this adorable and lovely movie called neo ned. in this movie, the chick wets her bed after having a dream about the man who molested her.

That night I had taken my boyfriend to a party with me. I never knew what self he would show to people. He might be charming and goofy, he might be sullen and aloof, he might be angry and flip a table over. What a dreamboat, right?! Yikes. So anyway, we went to a party. I was working at the library at my university, and the guys I worked with had become my bros. The party was great. My ex and his friend Nomad went with me and for the most part behaved themselves. My library bros were like. . They are really nice but kind of scary! My guys were punks with boots and braces and spikes and alcoholism. And I was all, they are just a bunch of teddy bears. It's all good.
And it really was.
We walked over to the bus stop on Carson and 18th. I was living on the slopes then in a rundown piece of shit house, on a street where my neighbor fed his pit bull gun powder. The alcohol must have finally hit my ex for real, cause he suddenly flipped on me. He called me a bitch and a whore, blah blah, lifetime movie, blah blah. This was all in front of like 20 people. Poor Nomad, who died of a heroin OD a couple years ago, didn't know what to do. He tried to calm my ex down, but I coulda told him there was no calming him down once he got started.
So we got on the bus- they sat in the back and I sat in the front. I wanted to be close to the bus driver, who looked kinda gnarly and maybe would try to help me if something went down. My ex screamed at me from the back of the bus. I had tears pouring down my face, but I stared calmly ahead of me. trying to disassociate, instead connecting even deeper to the terror i was feeling.
And then we got off the bus, and started walking home. it was a winding road that seemed endless, as I walked as fast as possible, desperate to get home. My boyfriend screamed at me while I raced forward. Across the street, a young black man called out to me. "Are you ok? Do you need help?"
"I'm ok" I choked out. My entire body was shaking from fear. My boyfriend really showed off his stellar personhood then, and began taunting me to "go fuck that n*"(I'm not typing it out, you know what i mean) and other equally sick shit.
we got home and for some reason we had a red bulb in our porch light. everything i remember is hazed in red. he said he was going to leave, he was sick of this, sick of me, etc. i can see his face, tinged with red like the anger that made him such a monster.
and i BEGGED him to stay. red like a valentine. red like lipstick all over my face.
thinking of that broken girl still kills me inside. i cried myself to sleep that night on the couch. when i woke up, i had pissed myself.
secondary enuresis, brought on by trauma, but i call it one of the most fucking brutal reality checks of my life. it was like a punch in the face, trying to wake me up from my nightmare.
i chose to soldier on, but the bruise remained for years, and i never forgot it.

so today i told my therapist about it, and i cried. and i said how awful it was that it happened to me, and how sad i feel for the person i was (and still am). and i breathed a little easier today.