***Possible trigger; not abuse, but emotional situation.

This is what I just wrote in my journal that brought me to tears:

I am very depressed. I have been afraid to leave the house since yesterday. I do not want to be around people, but I am on-call for work and company is coming this evening.

I remember when Mom was agoraphobic for several months when I was 10 or 11 years old. She could barely take me to or pick me up from school. I hope I never get that bad. I'll lose my job.

I felt like I was in a decent frame of mind this week overall, but *client's mom* asked me if I was okay Thursday. Maybe I'm fooling myself.

I reread what I wrote Thursday evening to T. Thinking back on the last few sessions, I remember that she's also physically pushed me out of her office twice recently. I feel silly asking for affection. Does she really not like me? Do I annoy her? Does she think I'm crazy? Does she get disgusted by me? Does she think my desire for affection is sexual? How should I know? If I ask, she might lie to me. Everybody lies for all kinds of reasons. I just crave motherly affection. I wonder if this is what my bisexuality is all about? I really just want to be held by an older female. Nothing sexual about it. I want to be comforted. I want to be reassured that I will be okay. In my childhood, nothing was ever okay. Nothing I did was good enough. Nothing I did to try to make Mom feel better worked. She was always depressed and sad or anxious and angry. Then when I was 15, I slapped her and called her a selfish b***h. I started screaming and ran into my room and shut the door and Dad literally broke the door down, picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder, carried me into the living room and put me down on the couch and said, "What in the hell is wrong with you? How dare you call your mother that name after all she's done for you. We don't know what to do with you anymore. If you don't calm the hell down, we'll take you to *local psychiatric hospital*."

They didn't take me. I stopped screaming, but cried and cried. Dad fixed my door, but it still has a hole in it 19 years later where he broke it down with his fist.

I really am a horrible person. Who would do that to their own mother? I'm becoming her; depressed and sad or anxious and angry. It's why I haven't had kids yet. I don't want to be my mother and I don't want my kid to become me.