I don't know if I can do this in A day in the life...

I’ve been seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist for years now, as some of you know. Almost two years ago I spent six days in a psychiatric hospital because I was going to kill myself. While I was there I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I got out and continued seeing the same shrink and therapist.

Flash forward to today. Nothing seems to have changed. I haven’t gotten any better. If anything, things have only gotten worse. I think about dying all the time. I cry constantly. My therapist never touches on my past, only wants to talk about the here and now and just dealing with how I feel now. The psychiatrist just doles out the meds.

A couple of weeks ago on Facebook a girl I go to church with made a post that I commented on. We started talking via private messaging on FB and she told me about the therapist she sees. She gave me his name and number and I called and made an appointment. I saw him for the first time last week. He’s the first therapist that actually started from the beginning. He asked me where I grew up, about my parents, my siblings, everything. We talked about the sexual abuse I endured, the rape, the physical and emotional abuse, the death of my baby brother. It was tough and there were lots of tears. He diagnosed me with PTSD. I told him I didn’t feel I was worthy of a diagnosis like that. I mean, I’ve never been to war or anything that bad. He explained to me what PTSD means in great detail. After he was done I tearfully asked him if he could help me. He said yes, he could, but I had to put in the work and it was going to be a long ride, with lots of ugliness coming out. I agreed to hang in there.

Today was my second session. Today I had to talk about the sexual abuse I endured when I was 8 at the hands of a neighbor. I had to talk about it in detail. The tears came and wouldn’t stop. I told him I don’t like to talk about it, let alone think about it, but I know it’s necessary. At the end I told him that I had told myself that I forgave the man who did those disgusting things to me, but I realized that I hadn’t. I think I hate him. I hate him for touching me the way he did, for the things he made me do, the things he did to me. I hate him for making me feel ashamed. I hate him for screwing up my life. I. Hate. Him.

I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t hate people. I’ve never had it in me to hate someone, even when they’ve hurt me.

When I left today I was still weeping. I managed to drive a few blocks and then had to pull over and throw up. Every time I think about that awful time I feel sick. I want HIM to feel sick! I want HIM to suffer the way I have!

Next week I have to talk about the death of my brother. I don’t know how I’m going to get through that. That was the worst day of my life, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

I promised I would stick this out, that I would see it through so I could get better. I don’t know if I can. I want to get better…I do! But I am hurting so bad right now I don’t know what to do with it. I’m so sad…the kind of sadness that goes all the way through you. My heart hurts, and I wonder if it’ll ever stop hurting. Will I ever stop crying? Will I ever be happy?

Would God forgive me if I realized I couldn’t deal with these things anymore and decided I just wanted to be with Him in Heaven? Would I have the courage to go through with it? I think about the bottle of sleeping pills in the kitchen and think about how easy it would be to take them and go to sleep and wake up in Heaven, where there would be no more heartache and crying.

I just want to scream! I want to break something, hit someone, throw things, smash something.

But right now, I just want to die.