I will probably be taking a break from here because I have been very severely depressed. It's all I can do to get out of bed these days. I haven't washed my hair in two weeks and I don't even care anymore. I've also been feeling even more depressed after coming here to post silly, defensive rants when the person I was ranting about could not even be informed about what was going on. Except for the recent incident of the little girl breaking away from me and leaving a sobbing message for him (which he ignored), there is no communication there. There hasn't been since late December. For a while I thought that might be good - that it would solve the problem and I could just tell you folks here of all the wild thoughts and feelings, but it hasn't helped. Nothing helps. I have been discounted and ignored and I am not important. I trusted someone, he hurt me very deeply, I got angry and mistrustful, and he ended up throwing me away like a piece of garbage. Yes, he (re)broke my legs and then he rejected me for being a cripple. But I'm not supposed to be angry or sad or anything else about that, because he's just a therapist. It was all fake right from the start! Apparently, his job was to destroy me. Mission accomplished. Yeah - I've been had. Maybe I'm not supposed to, now that I know the truth, but I feel bad anyway. I can't eat much, I drink, I abuse pills, my bed has become my headquarters, I can't get over the sickness I caught from the kids and I am very, very depressed. I don't see any way out anymore, so I guess this is the new 'normal'. I have removed the posts that came between now and the time that this depression actually started. They just don't matter now. Not much of anything does.

For anyone who needs an update on the post that (for now) appears to be the last one before this one: I told both therapists of each other and Old Guy (A.K.A. Dream Mother) has abandoned me very abruptly with no explanation or closure. He ignored my every attempt to communicate with him and I often think about dying. Knowing that I can choose to die, and that I have the means, is the only thing keeping me alive.

For any late-comers who might find this post someday, and if the recent posts are ever restored, the post I've been referring to that spells out the incident that began the depression is here. (And I only searched out that second therapist AFTER the incident detailed in the email included in that post. That last misunderstanding with the old therapist is what made me begin to lose hope. And when I tried to talk with him about it, he said, "I don't need to hold on to this." Enter the dissociation and it's all downhill from there.)

And just a random tip for wandering survivors of abuse: Protect yourselves! Do not attach yourself emotionally to any therapist. And if a therapist ever does anything that sends up the kind of red flag that would usually alert you to a betrayal? RUN! Run away as fast as you can before it's too late. Don't allow yourself to be re-traumatized!