I wonder why sometimes I do ok and then I suddenly remember my ex therapist and I start to feel sick.
I’m pretty consistent about proactively trying to take care of myself and when I feel sick about how Aaron Gleaves treated me and how he is basically still treating me, I try to feel better in the moment and move through the bad feelings. Usually I can do it.
Other times, I get stuck. It feels like feeling sick feels, with a heavy dread in my center that makes me nauseas. And the pain. My feelings literally hurt. I hate it. It’s such a bad feeling.
On top of all the disrespect I’ve gone through from him it’s pretty fucked up that of all things, I’d try Target 2 Zero if I could. But he took that option from me because everyone in Virginia who practices it either works with him or fucks him. So it’s another replay of my ex therapist closing doors on me left and right. The opposite of what the best therapists do.
I do sometimes try to rewrite what happened. Usually it doesn’t work because my brain tells me what I made up that happened is a lie. And I guess that makes sense. After being gaslit by ex boyfriends and an ex therapist and his supervisor, I really don’t think I ought to force gaslighting on myself.
The one thing I haven’t tried is visualizing him dying after hurting me. That way I’m validating the truth of what I went through, but maybe having him die in the story will make it stop and finally end. It seems a bit extreme. Then again, hasn’t he killed me and erased me? And don’t know how many times he’s done therapy on himself or told his wife or family, don’t worry, Resilient is dead. In fact, I changed things around so that she never lived.
Then I think, what kind of scum does a guy have to be to erase his client from her own therapy story? The same kind who throws his own work wife in front of a bus to protect himself. I’m frequently disturbed by how he treated his wife. When he did that it brought up all of the awful behavior I’ve seen men do and the shit treatment I’ve experienced from them. Then I think about how I poured some of my deepest soul out to Aaron Gleaves, a guy who showed home and his lawyer and everyone who knows, that he is that guy who would trip his wife if zombies were after the both of them. Then I feel very disgusted that I ever trusted and looked up to a guy like that.
My last therapist was constantly telling me it isn’t my fault, it wasn’t my responsibility to keep my therapy out of the woods. She never wavered from saying it was his job not mine to do that.
But why did my most helpful therapy have to fuck up so badly? It helped me so much and then destroyed me. Why? What did I do to have a therapist despise me so much that he threw me away and pretends I’m dead?
Did he want my ex boyfriend to kill me? Would he have been happy about that, relieved? I have trouble grasping why and how much my favorite therapist dislikes me.
I loved Aaron Gleaves. He was my favorite guy. It felt like a safe warm kind of love, with a little bit of excitement and unknown mixed in, enough to make it interesting but not enough to make it a problem. I wish he would’ve told me early on that he didn’t like having me as his client.
I don’t expect anyone to understand how it’s still much easier for me to love him than to hate him. It’s embarrassing because I’ve always been fast and thorough about not loving men who hurt me. I actually have a solid reputation for being really good about that. So I’m extremely embarrassed about caring for a guy who is showing that he’s a selfish jerk, and that bad feeling is on top of me already feeling extremely hurt by my last therapy sessions and how he treated me afterwards.
Sometimes I carry the pain so well I almost forget it’s still there. I wish I could learn to always be strong like that.
But it’s 4 am and I haven’t slept and I have that sick heavy feeling again and I can’t talk to anyone about it who might understand without them thinking I’m nuts. I’m not crazy though, I’m hurt and conflicted.
I’m still trying to be like the Aaron Gleaves who was a big strong handsome hero to me. I’m trying to be cold and strong and give zero fucks about somebody who existed for a brief part of my life but had a big impact. I don’t understand how it’s so effortless for him and so difficult for me. I don’t even get attached to guys I sleep with, so this just seems absurd.
I can stretch and tap and meditate and massage my head and hands and rewrite lots of things to make myself feel somewhat better. But the old fashioned part of the hurt, the classic part is still there and it gets really quiet sometimes, but I don’t think it’s going away.
If I rewrite it so that he dies, will I cry? If I do, is that ok? I started crying picturing it as I was typing this and had to redirect my thoughts. It seems weak to cry over somebody who had an easy time throwing me away. He metaphorically pushed me down the stairs and stepped over my body lying at the bottom on his way to rush out the door.
If zero is really a reachable thing with this pain, I wouldn’t know. Mine doesn’t get that low. My realistic target would be 5 percent. Only 5 percent of the pain would be amazing. It would be a lot less heavy of a burden. 5 percent of this pain and some old fashioned love and adoration mixed in. That would be manageable. I think I could carry that.