I still hate Mondays. I still have therapy on Mondays. I had not been in two weeks, and figured there was nothing to say, but went - as I have to pay anyway. It was a rough session, much to my surprise. I have to remember that I've been through much, much worse. I know I'm not the only woman to have been molested by a relative. I wish that I was in some ways, cause although I'd suffer alone - I would know that my pain and grief were an anomaly, instead of routine.
I can just see my grandfather's hairy old gnarled hands on my white, young skin. Just the image is nauseating and revolting.
I'm going to try and get some serious work done today at work. I'm going to shut my door and ignore all interruptions. Of course, my pc is still fucked and I have to call Gateway - AGAIN - as the warranty runs out tomorrow.
The advantage to working hard is it chases away the despair and sorrow.I was feeling a lot of sorrow and despair - what's the point, I don't want to go to work, etc. this morning. I'm trying to stay in the present, but it's hard. It's hard right now with all the loss and pain I'm facing to understand that there is a point to feeling it at all. I couldn't have integrated to the point where I am now without feeling the pain and the loss. I just wish I hadn't been so unlucky as to have my grandfather touch me like that. I feel so dirty, ashamed, and
violated. The sorrow and pain are really awful. That whole physical area just seems so unclean and nasty to me. I want to do something to get rid of this horrible feeling, and there doesn't seem to be anything to do. I hate, really, really, hate old men. shit.