They’re making me go back. Back to the place where I was taught that I always had to give in. Back to the place where I learned that I didn’t matter. Back to where everything that has made me broken began.

For IOP, they’re making me go back home.

Had a family session today in therapy. I told my parent that I wasn’t planning on going back to school this year because I really wanted to give myself a chance to focus on recovery by committing to the program. Their response? Demand that I uproot myself and come “home” for IOP. You know, the stage where you start to transition back into real life, where you start to stand on your own two feet, where you start to balance that tentative scale of program and the rest of life. Where the team that you’ve built up trust with, that you’ve come to trust imparts you with the reassurance you need to let go of their grasp and stick out your own arms for balance, and because you know they’ll be there to catch you if you fall, you’re brave enough to try walking that line.

And the outcome of today’s family session is the decision that when it comes to be my time for all that, I will be ripped away from my support and shoved back with the people who emotionally and verbally abused me and made me watch as they did the same to each other for the eighteen years that I lived with them. Instead of being treated like an adult who is capable of living life on her own, I’m to be treated like I’m twelve and still needing my parents as a crutch.

It’s not fair. If I had been physically abused (and God knows there were so many times when I would stare at my father and will him to just get it over with and hit me already), nobody would be making me go back. But because I was “only” verbally and emotionally abused, it’s all fine and dandy to ship me off like some transplantable flower. Well guess what? This snapdragon already knows how she handles transitions – and she wilts.

I’m in shock. I want to cut. I want to cry (been doing a fair bit of it already, actually). I want to run away and escape everything. I want to do anything I can to validate that I have my own identity and that what I want damn well matters, because nobody fucking else seems to be doing anything about that right now.

“Only” emotional and verbal abuse. Apparently since my parents agreed to go to therapy (fat load of crap that’s going to do when it comes down to the wire), it’s okay to shove me back into all that.

I feel so negated.

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One Response to Negated

  1. mo says:

    I love you. You will always find arms to welcome you when you visit here ❤

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