The little damaged kid in me cries and feels terrified. She can’t shake the memories of the past, and the feelings they bring up. Being here again brings them up so much more (but below the surface, where I have no real conscious recognition of it)… only they have no basis, so she has to give them a reason for being there… because why would she feel so scared with nothing there but ghosts? my head takes over and screams out the urges and makes them so damn strong that they take over for the fear and the memories and the pain… and now we need something to be legit about all that, so hurting me would make it real, would give it a reason for being… it would be a validation of having a real reason to feel so horrible… and in that skewed little way of hers, that little girl thinks that the only real love comes from pain and fear and abuse… so we recreate it whenever we can… because it just feels right. That feeling of peace is not possible here, because all the memories are of chaos and terror and… pain greater than words can express…

I so hate this. I hate that I can know all this, but can’t switch that dissociation on again and keep it contained until it’s safe to deal with… right now, alone, it is not at all safe to deal with…

I don't see my T again till Wednesday... there's a whole lot of time between now and then. I'm totally lost and drowning in all this. And I let my wife read my blog entry, which was a modified form of my previous post (took out the admission of slipping up). She wonders why I think she would be mad... Part of me wishes I could tell her, but the louder part stays quiet. I doubt I will be able to tell D about it either, tho I won't lie if he asks, I just won't say anything...

I've been listening to a song on YouTube all night, it's quite fitting. It's called Start Over by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis... about relapsing while in recovery... tho it is about alcohol, I can so relate...

I think it's time for bed now... night