I Broke My Therapist and Got a New Diagnosis

Warning:  This post contains possible triggers for self-harm.  If you are not safe, please don't continue.

The new diagnosis is Bipolar II and doesn't really have anything to do with me breaking my therapist.  It's something that's been tossed around as a possibility a couple of times in the past.  I think we're calling it semi-definite now.  Enough that I'm trying a new medication for it.  We'll see if that does anything to change my life.

But the real reason for this post is the whole breaking-my-therapist thing.

Let me start off by saying how much I adore my therapist, Dan.  A lot.  He's amazing and has helped me so much over the years.  He's seen me through some very difficult stuff and walked me through the dark corners of my life that I didn't want to go into.  I would recommend him to anyone.  Well, almost anyone.  Anyone who needs help but doesn't have a problem with self-harm.

You see, along with being a hero, my therapist is a person.  Just a regular human being.  With issues.  I know.  Therapists aren't supposed to have issues, huh?  But they do.  And he does.  And self-harm is the one I triggered.

For anyone who doesn't know me well or hasn't read my blog much, self-harm and I are old friends.  She's helped me get through some really heavy times.  (Not sure why I called self-harm female, but let's just run with it.)  Generally I'm a scratcher.  I use a broken plastic spoon to scratch myself (usually my arms) until I get through several layers of skin and it welts up and bleeds and stings really good.  I say good because to me, in those moments, it feels good.  Don't ask me why.  It doesn't make sense in my logical brain.  It just does.

I'm not good at knowing what will set it off.  It just happens.  I go months without doing it and then WHAM!  Out of nowhere I'm slicing my arms open.

Only this time I maybe should have seen it coming.  I've been fighting a nasty depression (with a couple days of hypomania thrown in, just for fun).  I went quite dark a few days.  Started isolating myself.  Quit getting dressed or leaving the house.  Stopped communicating with people.  Not a happy place.

I don't know what the straw was -- you know, the one that broke the camel's back.  But something happened and I knew I was going to hurt myself.  And being in that dark place when it started coming on, the idea of asking for help didn't occur to me.

But this time I didn't need to scratch.  I needed to burn.  See, it's like getting an itch.  And it's a peculiar itch.  An itch that will only be well scratched with the proper technique.  Sometimes that's the spoon.  Once in a while it calls for the curling iron.

Almost before I knew it I had a nice, big, second-degree burn on my arm.  Ugh.  I'd gone so long without doing it.  I'd been able to wear short sleeves without worrying about traumatizing my kids or others.  And then BAM!  All down the toilet.  Dang it!

Yes, it felt better in the moment.  Yes, it took away the itch.  Was it worth it?  I don't know the answer to that yet.

But then I had a therapy session.  Therapy only works if I'm honest with my therapist.  So I told him and showed him.  He wasn't happy, but we were functioning.  We were even making some progress.  Until near the end of the session.  When I, in the interest of honesty and knowing it was something I should tell him, told him I was thinking of using a blade.

And it triggered him.  And he lost his therapist brain for a bit.  And he called me a coward.

I completely shut down therapeutically.  I refused to look at him.  I started crying a lot.  I told him I was done and wanted to leave.

He could tell things had gone off the rails and tried to fix them a little, but it wasn't going to happen.  He asked when my next appointment was (because now he was very worried about me; it's never a good sign when you leave a therapy appointment in a more fragile state than when you entered).  When I told him it was in two weeks he said that was too long.  He looked at his schedule for the next week to see where he could squeeze me in.  It was packed full.  But he had an opening for the next day.  Would I take that one?  Whatever, just get me out of here.

I called my husband and told him what had happened.  He could hear how bad I was.  He tried to talk me through it.  I said I was safe (therapy code word for not-going-to-hurt-myself).  I said I was just going to go home and go to bed.  Maybe watch some Angel or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  He offered to come home.  I said he didn't need to. 

Apparently he didn't believe me, because he showed up a couple hours later (he has a two hour commute).  I needed him more than I thought and spent the rest of the night next to him.  Then he took the next day off work so he could come to my therapy session with me.

I don't often want outside help.  My husband is many things, but my strength is not usually one of them.  This time it was.  I needed him to be my buffer with my therapist.  Also not a good sign.

Usually when I take my husband to therapy with me it's because he's having a problem (we see the same therapist) or we're having a marital problem (which still usually means he's having a problem).  So as we sat down in the therapist's office he asked if there was a marital problem.  I said that we were fine.  He asked if Bill was there as support.  I said yes.  Then I looked him in the eye for the first time since he'd called me a coward and through my tears said, "I don't feel emotionally safe with you."

I chokingly explained what had happened the day before, thinking that maybe he didn't understand what he'd said or didn't mean it that way.  He said, "Yep.  I did."  Then he went on to defend it with the idea of challenging a patient.  Using the relationship between patient and therapist to push the patient into something healthier.  He said self-harm was a deal breaker for him.  It was his Achilles heal.  He said sometimes people forget that therapists are people, too, and have their own issues.  This was his.  If I couldn't commit to not do it anymore maybe it would be a good idea for him to refer me to someone else.

I've been seeing him off and on for over eight years.  The idea of starting over, of having to explain everything - my whole life story - again to someone new, was not appealing.  Was exhausting to just think about.  But I was pretty sure I couldn't work with a therapist that I knew saw me as a coward.  Someone I wouldn't feel comfortable telling when I self-harmed.  And I knew I couldn't say I was done.

I told him I needed to think about it and let my husband spend the next forty minutes asking about Bipolar II (really, just to get our money's worth; I had made the decision).  Then my husband ran out of questions.  It was time.

My therapist apologized for using such a "harsh" word.  I looked him in the eye again and said, "It wasn't harsh.  It was demeaning."  He just nodded.

We all sat in silence for a minute or two.

Then I looked him in the eye and told him I needed him to refer me to someone else.  I told him I've never not seen him as a person.  I never thought he didn't have issues.  But I have my own issues and I can't carry his, too.  I have to carry the issues of too many people in my life.  I can't carry his.

So he said he would refer me out.  He said his feelings weren't hurt.  He said I could come back if I ever needed to.  I understood completely why he reacted the way he did (I know what it's like to be triggered).  We patched things up amazingly well and respectfully.  I left with a recommendation from him (Jason) and a promise from me that I would get medication for Bipolar II ASAP.  And with a heart that was breaking, because even though I knew it was the right decision I was so sad about leaving him.

My husband and I left his office and I immediately set appointments with the new guy.

Lest I leave you with a bad feeling about my therapist, there is more.

He called me later that night to check on me and make sure I was okay.  I was.  I was actually doing great.  Much better than I'd been in days.  Because I'd done something very brave and very hard to stay true to my own needs.  I was riding a bit of a high from that.  He also said that what I'd said, about not carrying his issues, had stuck with him.  He'd been thinking about that a lot and would continue to do so.

Then he called me a few days later to apologize.  He said not only had he handled the first appointment horribly, inappropriately, but he'd botched the second one, too.  He said it's never okay to call someone names.  He acknowledged that he'd not been in his therapist mind at the time.  He said he'd spoken to some colleagues about it and understood a bit better.  He said to force me to transition to a new therapist while in the midst of a deep depression was completely wrong of him.  He said he knew that he'd shut me down when I needed to be heard.  And he was so sorry about that.

Then he said he'd also talked to his colleagues about his issue.  He said he understood self-harm better and how to see it as a symptom and to treat it as such.  He said he thought we'd done great work together over the years and still could.  He said he thought he could work with me, that he liked working with me, and wondered if there was any way we could repair the relationship.  Would I be interested in coming back?  Seeing him again?

I thought about it for a few seconds, but the decision was easy.  Because just moments before he'd called me I'd gotten out of a session with my new therapist.

I thanked him for his apology and gladly accepted it.  I told him we had done lots of good work together.  And then I told him I'd just met with Jason and wanted to try that course for a while.

He said he understood and that I would always be welcome back.  I told him it was nice to know I had a parachute, should I need one.

Will I go back?  Honestly, I think eventually I probably will.  I want to see what this new therapist has to offer.  Maybe he can help me kick the self-harm thing for good.  Maybe he can help me want to.  He thinks he can.

But I don't imagine he can possibly solve all the problems that keep me crazy.  My life is not simple and shows no signs of letting up any time soon.  I imagine I will work with him, get better for a while, leave therapy and try to make it on my own, and eventually crash and burn again (I mean that like a plane going down not depression and self-harm).  And when I do I will look for that comfortable place.  That worn pair of pants.  Because Dan and I still fit.

Rerun: Taking Pleasure in Another's Pain

This is actually a rerun from one of my other blogs, The Difficult Things.  I don't write there anymore.  As I've healed, I've gotten to the point that I feel I can share all the parts of me here.

That blog was for the dark things in my life.  There are still dark things, but I don't hide them from others anymore.

The Difficult Things was very important as I worked to shine light into those shadowy parts.  As I did so, I gained wisdom.  It still helps me to go back and read what I learned then.

I offer this to you, hoping it might shine a light into a shadowy area you or a loved one are avoiding due to fear or misunderstanding.

Taking Pleasure in Another's Pain

I was recently accused of gaining pleasure from hurting another person.  Initially it stung.  I got defensive. 

Then I realized that this person was striking out from a place of pain.  I was sad that she either didn't know me very well or couldn't see things as they really are because of her pain.

Other people's pain.  I've spent a great deal of my life concerned about other people's pain, especially pain I caused.  I have given up so much of what I wanted and sacrificed who I am to make sure I don't hurt others.  This is not healthy.

When I first started therapy I was asked what my boundaries were.  I was very confused.  I had no idea what he meant.  I had no idea that I had a right to set boundaries.  The more I learned the more I understood that I had very few boundaries.  I had some legal and religious boundaries, but that was about it.  Other people could push me, manipulate me, into doing what they wanted time and time again.  And the tool they used to do this was their pain. 

By making me feel responsible for their pain they could make me change my behavior.  Even if I knew my behavior was wholesome and healthy, they made me question that and sacrifice that because I didn't want to hurt them.  One of the main motivations in my life is to not cause others harm.  This has been used against me.

I remember sitting in a therapy session sobbing.  I was learning so much.  I was making healthy changes in my life, changes that were so good for me, but they were hurting others.  I remember asking my therapist how these could be good things if they were hurting others.  He told me something that has changed my life.

I felt like I was personally hurting other people.  I was not.  They were hurting themselves.

I had finally set boundaries.  He told me to imagine these boundaries as a brick wall.  They are there to protect me.  I can set these boundaries but others choose what to do about it.  The people who were hurt by my new boundaries were choosing to continually push against that brick wall.  They were choosing to run head-first into that brick wall and then blaming me for hurting them because I built the wall.

I've seen it happen over and over.  Pain is a difficult thing to endure.  We want to blame someone else.  It's easy to see how another person's behavior makes us unhappy.  It's tough to admit that our response to that person's behavior is what determines our happiness.  It's difficult to admit that our own behavior may be causing us pain.

On the other side of it, I've been hurt by others.  By the boundaries that they've set.  Not because these boundaries were unhealthy but because I was unhappy with them and kept banging my head against them.

Seeing another person hurt because of something I did is horrible.  I hate it.  But I must stay true to the boundaries that I need in order to feel safe.  It is my job to take care of myself; this includes setting and maintaining boundaries.  I am not responsible for the pain another person feels when he or she disapproves of my boundaries and keeps running into them head first.  And it's not my job to fix their pain.  Even if they think it is.

Rerun: Energy Vampires and Soul Suckers

It's time for a new post, but I'm just not up to it.  Still hurting a lot.  Still finding my way.

So here's another rerun.  It's from January 2010.  I hope you like it.

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Energy Vampires and Soul Suckers

Have you ever noticed that there are some people in life who are just draining?  Any interaction with them will leave you feeling depleted.  With some people it takes a long conversation full of their needs and ignoring yours before it hits.  With others, it's as soon as they enter the room.  As soon as you see them -- whoosh!  Energy drain.  It's almost like you can feel the life leaving your body.

Sometimes a person is truly in crisis.  They need to talk and if you can listen and give of yourself, they will get better.  It's a momentary crisis.  And they give back when it's you who are struggling.  They listen.  They give.  This doesn't seem to be so draining.  Partly because they refill you when you need it and partly because you are giving willingly.

But other people just take.  They corner you and utilize you.  They barrage you and then leave you in a crumpled heap.  You are glad it's over, but you know they'll be back.

Giving of yourself is charitable.  It's the Christlike thing to do.  I can hear the arguments.  And you're right; it is.  But what about the cost to you?

I think of Little Shop of Horrors.  Seymour tries to appease Audrey II with his own blood.  He soon discovers that he can't satisfy Audrey II's appetite.  And think of the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal.  They drain the Gelflings to fill themselves.  In both cases, it is all about meeting their needs and they are indifferent to their food source.

Some people are like this.  They have a hunger that cannot be satiated.  You can give and give, and when you are lying dead on the floor they will move on to someone else because they are still hungry.

I don't know about you, but I am still trying to figure out how to protect myself from energy vampires and soul suckers.  I believe that it is an important skill to learn.  As sovereign beings, we are responsible to set our boundaries to protect ourselves.

And luckily, not everyone we interact with is a soul sucker.

There are others, people who give.  Sometimes it's a two-hour conversation with both of you crying.  Other times it's a smile from across the room when you really need it.  These people are soul healers.  These people are well fillers.

I want to be like them.  But I'm a beginner.  I still vacillate between the two.  Sometimes I drain.  Sometimes I give.

But someday I want to be like those rare gems who are true healers.  These people can fill you up even when they are in crisis.  They receive more by giving.  Somehow, they have learned to protect themselves and still give away as much as is needed.

These people are the angels who walk among us.  And most of them don't even realize it.

I Just Can't Do This Anymore

I've been trying to help my mom (read more here).  But I can't anymore.

She wanted anti-anxiety meds.
Her psychiatrist didn't want her to have them and wouldn't prescribe them (I agree with his reasons).
She went to another doctor and asked him.
He saw the psychiatrist's note in her file and said he couldn't give them to her.
She went to a nurse practitioner.
The nurse practitioner gave them to her.

After my mom got them, she offered me one.

And she thinks the system is out to get her and no one wants to help her.

And I just can't do this anymore.  So today I sent her the following text, because via text is the only way she hears what I say:

I am sorry, mom.  I love you.  But I can't help with this stuff anymore.  I think the way you are doctor shopping and not following your doctors' and therapists' instructions is dangerous to you.  I can't keep helping it happen.  I know you disagree with me.  I am sorry if this hurts you.  I will let dad know that I am taking myself out of the picture.  I hope you find a way to feel better.

I also sent emails to her therapist and psychiatrist letting them know my decision and why.

Right choice or wrong choice, I know I hurt her.

I had a dream the other night.  I was back in time about twenty years.  My mom was there.  She was happy and healthy.  I am grateful for that dream.  It reminded me who she used to be.  That helped me act with love.

But I still feel like a horrible daughter.

It's just so sad.

A Possibility of Healing

This post is a follow up to yesterday's post, A Bad Therapy Session.

Yesterday I wrote about the pain.  About the trauma of a bad session.  About trying to decide what to do next.  About being unsure of whether or not I could continue to work with my present therapist.

What I didn't say was how badly I wanted to continue with him.  I wanted everything to be better.  I knew that we could work through things.  But I was absolutely not okay with spending another $100 to make it all better.  I was not okay with paying for another session so we could work through his mistake.

I wondered if I was just being stubborn.  After thinking about it a while and realizing the only way I could go back was if he agreed to work through it without it costing me anything, I wondered if I was being self-righteous and unfair.  But I don't think I was.

I was saying that my time matters.  That I deserve to get what I pay for.  That we are equals.  That just because I come to him for help it doesn't mean I have to gratefully accept whatever pittance he decides to grace me with.  I was saying I matter.

So that was my decision.  After lots of thought and prayer, I knew that was the only condition under which I could go back to work with him and still honor myself.

I expected him to call in response to my letter.  I didn't know what I'd do if the time came for my next appointment and I hadn't heard from him.  Luckily, I didn't have to find out.

He called today.

My phone rang.  I looked at the number and knew it was him.  I'd been expecting this but still wasn't ready.  I couldn't talk to him until I knew where he stood.  I just wasn't okay enough.  I wasn't even sure I could get any words out if I tried.  So I let the call go to voicemail.

He thanked me for my letter.  He thanked me for being open and forthright.  (There was even a note of what a great therapeutic accomplishment it was for me.)  He said he was sorry for "blowing" our last session (his word).  He said sometimes this happens.  When it does, he likes to offer a do-over.  Another session, as soon as possible, without charge.  He said he understood I wasn't sure if I was going to come back.  He said he would like me to.  He said he could make time this week to see me if I wanted to give it another try.  He asked that I call him back to see if we could set up a time.

After listening to his voicemail, I cried.  Kind of a lot.  He'd said exactly what I was hoping for.  He was the person I thought he was.  He honored the importance of my feelings.  He made me feel of value -- like an equal.

Even still, I couldn't call him right away.  I couldn't speak yet.  It was about 45 minutes before I could call, which made it a little after 5:00.  I knew there was a chance he'd be gone for the day and I'd get his voicemail.  I was even kind of hoping to.  I wasn't sure I could converse.  And I did get his voicemail.

As I listened to his outgoing message, I felt a bit of relief.  I could just leave a simple message and that would be that.  Only it wasn't that easy.  I began to speak and got choked up.  I pushed through the tears to say what I needed to say.  I told him he'd said the only thing that would have convinced me to try again.  I told him I could try.  I asked him to call me back with scheduling options.

It's not all better, but it's a start.  And it's not starting over.  Which I just don't think I could have done right now.

But for the first time in over a week, I feel like there's a possibility of healing.  Like maybe the healing has begun.

My Current Crazy

This one's tough.  I want to be honest and express what I'm struggling with while still treating the subject delicately.  I don't generally do delicate very well.

While I do believe my current depressive state is biochemical, it comes closely on the heals of a rather big stress storm.  And I have to be careful talking about it because the center of this storm is my mother.  No matter what she's been or done in my life, she deserves to be treated with respect.  I will try to honor that.

But I also deserve to share my story.  Sharing my story when it is closely entwined with hers is tricky.  Here goes.

My mom lives a few miles from me.  She and my dad are still married and living together.  I'm not really sure why.  But I gave up worrying about that a long time ago.

My mom went off the deep end when I was born.  Not that she didn't want me or blames me, but that's when her mental health tanked.  She had an emotional breakdown.  Long story short, she ended up addicted to Valium for several years.  So much more to the story, but that's not mine to tell.

She beat it.  They stayed married.  Life went on.  Again, lots of history.

Jumping ahead to where we are now.

I am the only daughter.  My whole life my mom has told me how important I am to her.  How I am her refuge.  That we stand united amidst the men.  (Kind of against the men, but that's another therapy session.)  For most of my life she's considered me her confidante.  Her closest friend.  The one who understands her.  That's a heavy burden.  Please don't do this to your children.

I've written about some of the other parts of my home life.  It was not a mentally healthy environment.  In order to heal and figure out who the heck I was and who I wanted to be, I've had to distance myself from them over the last few years.  Even though we live in the same town, I could go a month or two without talking to them.  It's not usually that long, but sometimes.  We pulled back from family events, putting in an appearance but leaving before I got triggered.  It's taken a lot of work and a lot of therapy to get to a place where I felt healthy with them.

But recently my life got a shake up again.

Over the years she's struggled with her emotional health.  I've watched her try this and that to make it better.  I've watched everything fail.  I've watched her mental health get worse and worse.  We are now at a point where she can't be in the room with others for long unless it's silent and dark.  She is no longer capable of listening to more than a sentence or two from anyone else.  She has bad ADD and struggles to stay on topic; she often can't finish a sentence.  She can't sit still.  When she's at my house she sits, gets up and moves, sits again, gets up and moves.  Over and over.  And she talks and talks without getting anywhere productive and without hearing anything we have to say.

She's 70-years old.  She's still married and he is healthy.  I didn't think I'd be put in the position of being her caretaker so early.  We're not quite there, but it's close.  She wants to put me in charge of things but also accuses me of trying to be in control.  She says she wishes she'd had a mom like me but tells me how much I'm like my dad who she can't stand.

Current situation.  On many meds and hormones.  Takes them as she feels she needs them, kind of close to as prescribed but not really.  Very much self-medicating.  She goes to her room and won't come out when my dad is there.  She waits until he's gone for the day before she comes out.  She leaves and stays gone all day, practically living out of her car.  She won't come home until she knows he's gone to bed.  She's a compulsive shopper and hoarder -- which leads to the many money fights I've been hearing about my whole life.  Her rooms (apparently she needs more than one room to herself) are so full there's about a foot wide walking path.  She's put wallpaper up to cover her bathroom mirror.  She's hung dark blankets over her windows with masking tape.  She has a mini-fridge, microwave, toaster, and food in her room/bathroom/closet.  She almost never eats at her house unless it's junk food in her room.  She's on a backward sleep cycle.  She never sleeps before 2am.  She doesn't function in the morning.  And she sleeps on the floor of her bathroom or walk-in closet.  Not on a mattress or anything, just a thick rug.  And she recently told me she has bad cataracts and needs to have them taken care of but hasn't felt well enough.  Because of the cataracts, night driving is very difficult for her.  But she keeps doing it anyway.  Her need to get away is apparently greater than her concern for her own or others' safety.  I have expressed my concern.

My dad knows most of this but has lived with it so long he just accepts it.  I think he feels helpless.  Theirs is not a good partnership.

She's recently been coming around more, leaning on me more.  She'll show up at our house and talk for several hours two or three times a week.  I feel held hostage in those moments.  She's asked me for prescription meds (I didn't give them to her).  She tells me things and wants me to keep them secret from my dad, from everyone really.  She's shown up at the church a few times while I was trying to perform my calling.  She's very needy and has no friends.  The only people she has in her life on a regular basis are me, my dad, and my adult niece who lives with them. 

On the bright side, I've had plenty to talk about in therapy.  My therapist has helped me define what my responsibilities are and what they are not.  He's helping me set boundaries.  I will no longer listen to her tell me everything awful about my dad for hours.  I will change the subject or leave.  I will no longer let her take over my life.  I will give where I should but draw lines as well.

She says she's going back to therapy (at my suggestion).  And her primary care doctor (who is a pediatrician -- don't get me started on that) says she has to get in to see a psychiatrist and an internist within the month or he won't see her anymore.  He's worried about her psychological health.  Yeah, me too.

I'm trying to keep my out-of-state brother informed, because I don't want to carry this information alone.  I am leaning on others.  And I've done great with boundaries the last week or so.  But it is a heavy burden that's likely to get worse before it gets better.

And heaven forbid they finally do decide to divorce!  I can't imagine what my life will become if that happens.

So please forgive me if I let you down recently.  Or if I'm not up to getting together.  I'm doing the best I can.

And I'm so scared of turning into her.

If They Don't Mean to Hurt You, Is It Still Abuse?

As a teen it seemed like every show on TV had an abuse theme, either the main theme or secondary.  I think the 80s were some kind of waking up period for the world.  Here's this awful thing and you need to know about it.  Like that.

And on TV, abuse was easy to recognize.  You could always pick out the villain.  He was charming in public and a monster behind closed doors.  If he was nice to his victim, it was just to manipulate her into what he wanted.  It was all so black and white.

But in real life it's not always like that.

Sometimes someone's behavior hurts you so much.  You know they love you and weren't trying to hurt you, but they did.  And when you know they didn't mean to hurt you it's easy to overlook it.  It's easy to say it doesn't matter.  It's easy to forgive and move on.

Sometimes you see their suffering and excuse their behavior because of it.  If she weren't struggling so, she never would have said those things.  She never would have called me that.  She never would have made me feel so worthless.

And after a while it becomes the norm.  It's just who they are so you accept it.  You know you can't change them so you just take it.

But guess what?  That's not healthy.  Just taking it isn't okay.  It will destroy you.

I'm big on identifying motivation.  I try to look for why people do what they do.  And I generally assume they didn't mean to.  Maybe it's because when I am mean I don't usually mean to be.  We tend to ascribe our motivations to others; it's human nature.

So if someone hurts you.  A lot.  Over and over.  But they didn't mean to.  Is it still abuse?

Yes, it is.  Even if they're sorry.  Even if they're not.  You can try to reason it away.  You can excuse it all you want.  But it's still abuse.

Because sometimes abuse isn't about intent -- it's about results.  It's about one person putting their own emotional needs above yours in an unhealthy way.  It's about crossing boundaries.  It's about using another person for your own benefit.

And it's about how it makes you feel.  When you've spent years in abusive relationships, sometimes you don't see it.  You sit and take it and later you crumble.  The crumbling is a sign.

Sometimes you see the crumbling as a sign that you aren't strong enough.  That you aren't kind enough.  That you aren't forgiving enough.  That's not what it's signaling.

You are crumbling because you are wounded.  Because what was done to you wasn't right.  And whether anyone else noticed it or not, it was still wrong.

And you can learn from it.  You can learn to protect yourself.  You can set boundaries.  You can refuse to see people.  You can leave.  You can make excuses.  You can even lie to protect yourself. 

When you are young, you are sometimes helpless and trapped.  When you are an adult, you aren't.  Unless you are actually chained up, you can get out.  It may not be the ending you were looking for.  It may not be easy.  In fact, it will probably be the toughest thing you ever do.  But sometimes you have to leave.

But if you stay, it's your job to protect yourself.  You can spend all the time in the world blaming the other person.  Saying it's their fault.  And you would be mostly right.  But you won't heal.  You won't heal until you see that little glimmer of power that you still have.  You won't heal until you take back control of your life and your own emotional health.  You won't heal until you refuse to be a punching bag.  Ever again!

It takes time.  It takes practice.  And you might have to learn over and over again with multiple people.  But each time you set a boundary and stick to it, demand that it be respected, you will be stronger.  More whole.  More healthy.   Better able to face the next day.

And you are worth protecting.  Say it over and over to yourself if you have to.  If that's too hard right now, just remember that it's your job.  You are the only person on this planet whose job it is to keep you safe your whole life.  Sometimes it's easier to think of it this way.

Abuse isn't always easy to see.  But if the same person keeps hurting you over and over, protect yourself.  Whether they mean it or not doesn't matter.

It's not okay to hurt people.

Smartly Essay - Sex

My essay on sex, slightly rewritten, is up over at Smartly.  If you haven't read it, you should.  Everyone should.  It's a statement about sex that I would love to spread to as many people as possible.  Especially young people.