Oh yeah. Oh oh yeah, right here. What is therapy though? You’re just talking to someone who lives in happy land and has probably never even experienced hell. After the second session I was back on SP for whenever I needed to let shit go or talk.
Yeah. Funny how they sit there and say they’ll help but get just as triggered and up the ass counter transference and then back away. One in a million chance of finding someone who wants to go to the deapest, darkest places of a DID patient and actualy provide healing.
In my case I’m not paying. Like my therapist said, ‘I don’t need the money’ (because her husband has more than enough to go around). But, yes. We are no one. Unable to be helped. Defective. Worthless and devalued. Our life as it has been. There is no such thing as healing for us and no place for us to feel safe. Pitty is not therapy. A very sad reality and one that brings me here once again.
I’ve had relationships like this throughout my life. Too intense and repetitive. You get to the point when you want that to stop. To get off the merry-go-round. And every time you do, it brings you closer to the all-out stop and end. And, its always my fault. Unconditionally because I have a label. An infliction. Illness. A past that I didn’t ask for and cannot escape.
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Oh yeah. Oh oh yeah, right here. What is therapy though? You’re just talking to someone who lives in happy land and has probably never even experienced hell. After the second session I was back on SP for whenever I needed to let shit go or talk.
Yeah. Funny how they sit there and say they’ll help but get just as triggered and up the ass counter transference and then back away. One in a million chance of finding someone who wants to go to the deapest, darkest places of a DID patient and actualy provide healing.
Am I right?
Cwazy. Haha.
It’s all about the money, man. Fuck humans in distress.
And then I tell myself I can’t blame them because what am I to the world? Nothing, really.
In my case I’m not paying. Like my therapist said, ‘I don’t need the money’ (because her husband has more than enough to go around). But, yes. We are no one. Unable to be helped. Defective. Worthless and devalued. Our life as it has been. There is no such thing as healing for us and no place for us to feel safe. Pitty is not therapy. A very sad reality and one that brings me here once again.
I’ve had relationships like this throughout my life. Too intense and repetitive. You get to the point when you want that to stop. To get off the merry-go-round. And every time you do, it brings you closer to the all-out stop and end. And, its always my fault. Unconditionally because I have a label. An infliction. Illness. A past that I didn’t ask for and cannot escape.
But maybe I can. The only thing is, can I?