Two weeks, dirt walls & a victim

It'll be two weeks tomorrow since I last went to therapy.

For the first three years of this process I saw a therapist in Maine. She was one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. She was there with me through the darkest times, teaching me to release memories that had trapped me for years. With her I was able to take steps never available to me before. I was able to scream in anger at my mistreating, cry for the lost childhood and acknowledge that I was a worthwhile being on this planet.

Two years ago, my partner was offered a job here in Connecticut and I agreed that it was the right decision for us. For the first 9 months I would travel to Maine twice a month to visit my therapist and psychiatrist. Of course a 7 hour drive got to be too much over time. So, I began the search for a therapist here in Connecticut.

If you go back a few listings on this blog you'll read about my first Connecticut therapist The Smiling Devil Therapist later I found the current one. I have to admit I feel abused often after session. It seems that I am working on someone else's time table. Almost as though there are timed milestones I have to meet. Control of my process is no longer mine.

These past two weeks I have been saying how tired I am of everything ... literally everything. My other favorite mantra has been that I don't care ... I just don't care about, well anything.

Today, as I sit alone in a house chilled by the November winds I face the deep dirt walls that have sprung up around me. Did I create this trap for myself? Will I always remain a victim? Even to myself?