I am having what one might call a bad day, if one were not me.
Went to therapy today, am now so dissociated that it took me 45 minutes to walk the 5 blocks home. I was stumbling, could barely walk, was pausing for minutes at curbs because I couldn't understand how I could possibly overcome them.
I was watching my feet, vaguely stumbling home, not watching for cars at cross streets. I'm sort of amazed that I made it home without getting clipped by a car.
I think this is hurt. Maybe grief. My therapist is trying to lead me toward the normally recognized "little wife" way of looking at incest. I think he is wrong. I resist. I tell him that while I felt bad for my father as a teenager, the incest started as far as I know at four.
I do not want him to focus on my father. He's starting to look at my mother as a victim, not another abuser of mine. He speaks of how lonely my father must have been.
I seethe inside. Do not imply I am normal, female, that this is all understood. My therapist seems to ignore the incest with my mother and sister. Women don't abuse. He knows they did. But all that seems to matter to him right now is the incest triangle.
We speak of memory. He asks me whether my memory got better after my father died, I replied that it did. That I remember most of 16,17,18-22 quite clearly.
I barely remember 12. There is a larger gap at nine. My mother was in the mental hospital when I was nine, and had left the house when I was 12. I don't want to remember. I want need these gaps. I need the numbness I had toward my father. Why is it always the father they focus on. I don't want this normal female condition. I do not want this, I resist.
My therapist tells me that I may have enjoyed the physical relationship, that I may have wanted to comfort my poor father. I sit on the couch, in the same position, holding myself from hurting this man.
He deserves my hurt at this time, I feel. But I do nothing.
I do not want this father rape. I do not want this gender, this normalcy, this way of looking at incest.
I resist.
Afterward, my therapist asks if he pushed me too hard. I feel nothing inside, I feel nothing outside. I reply in the negative.