It's Not My Fault

I haven't written much about therapy lately, I guess. It is just too painful to even put into words that I can later look at, and read. Going into my own head and regurgitating memories is hard enough, and verbalizing isn't my strong suit, but I've released a lot of crap in the past few sessions with my regular therapist. I was seeing a therapist for the trauma, but I could never really get comfortable. He did help me to better understand the flashbacks and dissociation though. Therapy is a strange process, and it takes a lot of trust, at least for me, to open up. It is weird, but my therapist knew right away that I had been sexually abused, even before I could tell her. She waited patiently for months before I said anything. Of course, it took me most of my life before I could speak. To tell you the truth, I thought that everyone already knew. I thought you could just look at me and see all of the ugliness. Not only that, but I thought that there was something about me...a target on my back...that I deserved what happened to me. God, I hated that little girl.
Now, I can forgive. Maybe not them, maybe never them, but me. I can forgive me for hating the child that I was. I can honestly say now, "It was not my fault."