Triggering stuff after the jump.
I asked CT why it's so easy for everyone to leave me and CT said that that's not what is happening between us. She said that I am the one who is leaving my foster mom, that I set conditions that my foster mom isn't capable of meeting. I feel like CT was defending my foster mom, although she says she wasn't. I told CT that she's right. I fuck up everything and then CT said that I was wrong and going to the self blaming place I always go to. Whatever. She's right. I do make it impossible for people to stay in my life. My foster mom is right too. I didn't do anything to save myself. I didn't reach out for help. I didn't tell anyone. I didn't do ANYTHING.
I feel like no one really understands what kind of person I've always been. CT blames everything on my mother and abuse, etc... She just doesn't get it. Nobody gets it. I have hurt a lot of people in my life. A wet, rancid, greasy garbage streak of destruction follows me wherever I go. CT kept telling me that I don't have to go down this path of self loathing, that I can just let the thoughts pass and not follow them. How do I do that? Everyone keeps saying that to me, like it's so easy. I don't know how to do it. I kind of deserve it it anyway. I feel like I deserve to hate myself. If I give myself a pass for all the crappy things I do, what's going to stop me from continuing to be such an asshole?
I hate that I can't seem to get over things that happened more than half my life ago. I hate that I never told anyone anything. My foster mother is right about a lot of things. I know what my foster father did was seriously wrong, but how could it have been so bad to me if I didn't tell anyone? Sometimes I really liked the attention. Sometimes I really liked all of it. Sometimes I sought him out. I wanted it. I liked it. I let people believe that I was this scared little girl the whole time but I wasn't. I often initiated it when I was a little older. I loved the attention and gifts. I didn't care that he was violent. Maybe I liked the violence. I don't know. When it wasn't happening, I was playing with my toys and friends in seriously fucked up ways, or drawing seriously fucked up things.
Why didn't I just tell someone? I could have told my CASA, my teachers, my case worker, my foster mom. ANYONE! Someone even came to my school to explain to use what "good touch and bad touch" was and still I said NOTHING. Why didn't I stop it? Why didn't I threaten him that I'd tell someone? Maybe he would have stopped if he thought I might tell someone. Maybe I didn't want him to stop. How long would it have gone on if Maggie never read my journal? What would have happened if I had reached puberty while I was living in that home? He never really threatened me. I know that he said that people would have to remove me and put me in a psychiatric hospital if they found out what we were doing, and that they wouldn't be able to adopt me, but how was that really all it took? How was that enough? Was adoption really worth that to me? How screwed up is that? I feel like I kind of sold myself. I traded my body, my childhood, for adoption. He didn't steal my innocence because I didn't have it to take, or if I did, I pretty much gave it away. It's sick. I feel sick. I put up with...no, I more than put up with it. I participated in seriously sick things and I'm not even sure why. Was it really because I wanted to be adopted? What if it wasn't? What if I just wanted it? I feel so disgusting, and now there is photographic evidence of all of it. Other people have seen the things we did. There are photos of it! There are fucking photos out there. God, there may even be videos. I feel like there are fire ants crawling all over my body when I think about that. How could I be a part of that? Why don't I remember being a part of that? Why don't I remember? What else is there? What else was I a part of? What is wrong with my brain?
I feel like I was born some kind of overly sexual freak. My behavior was not normal, from birth. I know all of you are going to tell me that it's not my fault, I was just a kid, reacting normally, but you don't get it. I'm not like normal people. I wasn't like other kids. I wasn't a normal kid. I'm not a good person. I feel like I deserved it. I deserve/d all of it. I deserve to suffer today. I didn't save myself, so all this shit that I deal with today is partially my own fault. I am a disgusting fucked up person. I hurt myself. I hurt a lot of people. My baby sister suffered when it was supposed to be me. I could have handled it, but I let a toddler take it for me. I exhaust everyone with my seriously fucked up behavior. Fuck, I even exhaust blog readers with all my pathetic crap. I hate myself so much it's unbearable. I really do. I don't know how to tolerate it. Sometimes it's so overwhelming that I panic and can't figure out what to do with myself.
I kind of freaked out in therapy today. I scratched the crap out of my hand with my nails, not even realizing I was doing it. I acted like a complete psycho--pulling my hair, hitting myself in the head as hard as I could. I was mortified, but I couldn't stop. I was kind of just watching myself go insane, but could do nothing about it. It was like my body was on autopilot and the off switch was broken. Strange sounds kept escaping from my mouth as I acted like a fucking lunatic in front of someone. CT asked me what she could do to help soothe me towards the end of therapy. I said what I really wanted was pretty fucked up. I told her that what I really wanted was someone to beat the crap out of me. She kept saying that it makes sense to her, that it's not fucked up. She said it sounds like someone who was abused and beaten as a child, and the physical pain is more bearable than the emotional pain or something like that. She talked quite a bit in our session, but we were so far apart. There was no connection or middle ground between us. We were on totally different planets. She just doesn't get it. She won't look past her own biases and see things for how they really are and how they really were. I'm crazy. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of me.