I hate myself for not being able to drop all the dark shadows and move on with my life. I hate myself for the flood of images and smells that take over me when my husband comes near. I hate the intensity of the emotions that begin to surface when those that carry them are triggered.

I hate that I don't know what to do to make it all go away. I hate that this therapy process takes so long. I hate that I hate. I hate when I feel anger and totally hate when I feel sorry for that bastard father of mine.

I hate myself for not being normal. I hate that that monster who calls himself my dad took my life away from me, for from the moment he touched me at the age of 4, I ceased to exist and my life stopped.

But I love myself for having the COURAGE to drag all of this crap into T's office twice a week, to have to speak these heinous feelings out loud, so some day I will no longer hate myself and relish in the warmth of the light.