Yesterday was a bad day.
Something is going on in therapy.
I’ve been losing time.
Yesterday I found a post written by Bobby.
“rob is always horrified.
It’s what he does.
he’s so horrified when he thinks of what the body looks like when Sara is out. Like who the fuck cares! i don’t care. i like Sara. we’re friends. she protects me.
when I went into Second Life she came in to protect me. I didn’t think I needed protection but it turns out I did.
she took care of it.
she has a way with words.
i’m sick of therapy all the time like i got no right to live.
i don’t care about the body. the body sucks.
when I go into second life i got a body and i have fun,
like with my simboard –It flies and and i use it to do tricks to my tunes.
i feel the wind and it’s fresh and i don’t see nothing wrong with it.
i sometimes think the shrink wants me to go away.
i hope she sees this…cause i ain’t goin nowhere.
rob’s gonna be horrified when he sees this post.
it’s what he does.”
Bobby was about to submit his post when a friend who was visiting
my partner knocked on the door of the bedroom.
“I’m writing” Bobby said.
She barged into the room and threw a package of matzo on the bed,
and said ” C-ya!” and closed the door.
The world evaporated. The body flooded with adrenaline, its heart sped up,
it couldn’t breathe.
Bobby tried to calm down but heard voices from the kitchen. He got up and walked to the kitchen and saw people he didn’t know. Pleasant looking people. He smiled. They smiled. He stared neighbor in shock and said her name. She raised her hand and waved it in Bobby’s direction and said: This is Matthew.” Bobby switched out and there I stood in a pair of Curious George pajama bottoms.
I gave everyone a horrified smile and fled to my room.
It’s what I do
I’m tempted to tell myself to shut up and get over it.
However there are other elements involved.
I have PTSD related to childhood abuse.
Bursting into my room always precipitates a trigger response.
She made it worse by throwing something at me.
On the surface it looks harmless.
But this person for over 15 years.
She’s gone to therapy sessions with me.
She knows my triggers.
The fact that she knows me so well makes her behavior more confusing which makes it a bigger trigger.
I returned to my room and crawled into my bed. I curled into a ball with the blankets over my head.
My mother breaks through the door. She drags me out of my bed by the hair. I’m confused, my heart pounds, My chest is on fire. I can’t breathe. She’s burning me. All goes black. I’m dead. I try to move but can’t. I’m dead. Now I’m cold. I shiver. My hands tremble.
I lose the rest of the day.
What can it mean?
Why does this happen?
Why am I still so broken?