Sunday, February 6, 2022

Meetings With My Therapist #1

 Kathy reminded me that we are our own worst critics. Instead of seeing a victory as a victory we see it as a loss. Every day I don't drink is a victory even if it was shitty, hard day.


I've been bone-shattering mortified reading my older blog posts. I've been mortified by a handful of things. My rage was consuming me at such a young age. The treatment I accepted from both my father and those I would go on to date. There is a correlation there and if I'm being honest, it's terrifying to scrape over in therapy. I'm mortified that I was capable of not addressing my internalized misogyny, racist beliefs, and prejudices. I am not that girl anymore. I will address it. I will feel the feelings. I will be disappointed. I so easily could have drowned under that rage and hatred. It's easier there. A huge part of recovery is accountability.

This is a victory. I now understand how judging someone by the people they've slept with is not okay. It's none of my fucking business. This is a victory. I now understand that having a cop fuck with you outside of your house and then let you go with just a warning is a privilege. There are bigger things in play. This is a victory. I now understand and comprehend that Obama's skin color didn't have any correlation to his time as President. (This was especially hard to read. I am so, so fucking sorry.) Obama failed us because he is a U.S. Politician. Politicians as a whole tend to not be very good people. We the people, are failed and exploited every-single-day. This is a victory... sort of. I mean, the world is fucked but at least I am not naive to that any longer. *thumbs up*


I sort of can't wait to really dive into what went on in my life to cause so much anger. As women it is so easy to be placed in a box. We are crazy, or too sensitive; if only we could take a joke. Women are expected to do this and do that; what those things are varies by the man showing interest or not showing interest but still feeling the need to comment. Men have had plenty to say about me. Men have taken my body and made it their personal plaything. I've been a mother to grown men. I've been a stepmom to kids I didn't want to care for. (My fault for dating men with kids. That won't happen again.) I've been a maid. I've been an accountant. All labor that was unpaid for.


The box titled crazy became too comfortable and familiar for me. My hope is that with a better understanding of myself I will find a better understanding of those that helped me enter that box, and therefore fully understand myself. My present existence is a swirly mess -HOLY SHIT- being an adult is hard. Parents aren't just raising children. They are creating an adult. Think about that before you make a life that is not choosing to be made. Are you helping create a better world? Will you die for them?


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