There was a massive meltdown Friday morning. I'm trying not to be, but I am ashamed. I don't like panicking, screaming and crying in front of anyone. I don't want anyone else to be hurt, stressed or frightened by this crap like I am. And I try to contain it, control it, even drown it if I must. But I'm in pain. I hurt. I don't know what to do. I'm trying, though.

There are some good things. My therapist joined me for some bucket bashing. I think he has come to understand how deeply certain 'help' in my past has damaged me even more. And he also knows that if anyone else offers me a bucket, I will take it. And then I will beat the living shit out of them with it. I don't think I will be looking for any new therapist. It took me too long to educate this one.

And my husband - Where do I begin? I was so desperate one night, that I could not even read. I am so fucking lucky to have a husband who will read to me. He sat by the bed and he read to me. He is dyslexic. He read to me anyway. I loved every hesitant word. Because I love HIM. When I couldn't pay attention anymore, he massaged my feet.

And my lovely friend Grace, the Louise to my Thelma? Well, to be explained in a future post, a scarf and an ancient navigational device are crossing paths in the mail.

The problem is largely the father. I hate that pervert and the liberties he took. As much as I say shit like "Fuck him", if we're being literal here, I wouldn't willingly fuck him. Not even with Marsha's pussy.

The crying place has been here all night, but I had to drown it because I was tired and afraid. I have to go to sleep now.