I had a pretty hard session with my therapist today... She wanted to work on the self harm; as she put it, it's the most important issue since it's a danger to my health. (much different from last time when I was in therapy... we never got to really touch the SH, the previous therapist just kept saying we'd get to it...). I had noted on a chart each day how strong my urges and certain emotions had been (anxiety, shame, frustration, suicidal) and she chose to walk me through Monday... From the moment I woke too early, thinking I was late... to the meetings I had, first with my job consultant who I thought was going to be mad at me... and then the therapist and I worked through what happened at the meeting with what I thought was a back specialist... (abuse trigger warning) Going through some standard questions I told the specialist I was fairly certain I had PTSD, and struggled with anxiety... which keeps me inside a lot. (I did think that was relevant)... but the young woman just started to dig into it, wanting me to tell her what happened. I froze, I wanted to throw up, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream at her to shut up... but my body was frozen. I had so many flashbacks... and she kept asking "When... what ever it was happened... did you fall on your back?" ... "were you kicked?". Even writing this I feel bad. I have not worked on that one instance with my therapist yet. (we're only 3 weeks into therapy... and she's starting with the SH). I understand in a way how it could be relevant to ask if I had gotten any 'impact injuries'... but what about asking delicately? I know I am an expert in pretending I am fine in the most horrible situations... but didn't my silence at least tell her to stop?? I left that meeting, wanting to cry. But I couldn't. I can't. I think I even smiled and shook her hand... while I felt so bad about that. Furthermore... she decided instead of dealing with my back she wanted to sign me up with an anxiety support group... I just know if I do that while in therapy it could spoil so much. If my real therapist says something, and I get told something different in that group... Blegh. Anyway... my therapist worked through it, and how I felt... and how I later that night ended up harming myself to control my emotions... and how I under those meetings had been giving myself a bit of pain to keep myself under control... After that the therapist wanted me to cry. She knows how hard that is for me. From when I was little my mother would abuse me if I cried; she would give me icy cold showers, slap me, beat me, and as I got older if she caught me even with red and puffy eyes (despite having tried to washed it off my face) she would laugh at me and tell me I looked like a stupid fool etc, sometimes she'd even hold me in front of the mirror and hold my head, force me to look at my ugly tearfilled face... In school when I was bullied, I knew if they ever saw me cry it would only get worse... I mastered the fake laugh and smile from a very early age. I do cry, but only when I'm completely alone... and mostly when I watch a sad film or listen to a sad song. And even when I'm alone I try to joke about it. I always try to avoid the mirror if I've been crying... but sometimes I repeat what my mum did. The therapist doesn't know all these details... not yet... There's a limit to how much you can tell in 1 hour sessions when you're also supposed to work on stuff... but she knows that I find crying difficult because mum would abuse me for it. So the therapist kept on trying to make me cry... in a 'safe' atmosphere and kept on encouraging me that it was very normal and okay to cry over what happened to me. And right after when I was finally allowed to dry my eyes and 'come back' she told me to tell myself out loud that I was a strong person. I wanted to... I have decided I'll do anything the therapist tells me so I can better... but I couldn't. The words just didn't even form. And now I feel bad. I both feel bad for crying like that... and I feel bad for thinking that it's not okay to cry. Why the hell have I adapted my mother's voice and f*cked up views on me? Why am I such a freak?