T and I scheduled a 90 minute appointment today, since so much came up over the weekend with the pills and whatnot.

I know that part of why I "need" to take them is to keep the trauma stuff at bay...one thing in particular has been floating around in my head, knocking on the door of my consciousness, and it is something that I really haven't wanted to think about, talk about, feel about. Since I stopped taking the pills....there it is. I'm out of ways to make it go away.

I talked a little today. I went back to the house it happened in. I was 7. T went with me. It was so real. The details...the color of the door, the lighting in the room, the other sounds in the house. I was aware of being with T, but not aware too...sort of drifty.

It got too scary and I was trapped and I begged T to make it stop and he did. He pulled me back into the room. He pulled 7 year old me back, and we sat together and he rubbed my hands.

I asked him if he had been there in real life, if he would have made it stop, and he said yes. And I asked him if I told him what had happened if he would have been angry, and he said no. And he told me all of the things he would have done for me...how he would have taken care of me, and would have done everything he could for as long as it took for me to feel safe again. How he would go down the street to the house, and he wouldn't even put his coat on first, and would make sure that the person who lived there paid. 7 year old me felt loved and cared for and safe for a minute.

He hugged me and I asked him if I am safe now and he said "I think you are, even though it doesn't feel like it sometimes"

I talked...some...and came out on the other end. And felt cared for. I'm so grateful for T.