Here's the email I just sent to my T, so I don't have to explain this all again.
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OK, Gregory, we have this deal that when I want to cut, i write you about it. The evil Ts and nurses in partial also are holding me to that. The farthest I'm going tonight is that I'm doing it, and I make no promises after that.

I know how hard you have tried to help me with certain things, and that's part of what makes me feel so bad if I go through with it -- I hate letting you down. But here's where I am right now: I had that miserable afternoon yesterday in group therapy. There's a woman in the group who teaches first grade, which is roughly how old I was when I have the first real memory of abuse. She told me that no little kid deserves to be hurt, not even when they're being rotten, and she couldn't imagine any situation in which that wouldn't be true.The therapist tried the same tack. I just sat there and bawled my eyes out, and then I went to the bathroom down the hall and bawled some more.

When I look way deep down inside of me, Gregory, all I see is the black ball that eventually becomes the black goo. At the very core of me, I see blackness and evil and "bad." I went and posted on the SI board, and people are telling me I"ve been hurt enough and don't need any more pain, and I can't agree. Right now, I hurt like hell, I want some validation for my pain, and whatever I got I really do think somehow I earned. I don't know how to get around that. You are hands down the best therapist I've ever had, but even with all the time and patience you've put into me, and all that's still to come, I don't know if I will ever lose the black ball in the pit of my stomach. I don't want to hear about how much I've accomplished in spite of things. I don't want to hear that people are inherently good. I'M NOT. All there is is darkness.

Now. If you thought that about yourself, wouldn't you want to do something about it? Well, I want to cut. I broke a glass today, and while I swept up most of it, I saved a couple of the larger shards. They're sitting on my bathroom counter, taunting me. I'm ready to do some damage. I can't bear letting you down again, but I can't stand feeling like this a lot longer, either.

I'm trying everything, really. I wrote you. I took a bath. I made some dinner. I read part of a funny book. I looked over the chart you made me. I'm about to go take an extra Risperdal, after I stop crying. But if I do all that and it still doesn't work, I'm out of options.

Oh well. Tomorrow is another day, right? Hang onto this -- we'll have a lot to talk about after Thanksgiving....

Candy