She went to bed scared last night, instead of spending hours hiding, she went to bed scared last night. She surrounded herself with pillows and blankets but it did not help. She woke up from nightmares huddled in the very top corner of the bed, shaking and scared, hugging her knees tight to her chest. She remembers the nightmares but she will not talk about them. She is too scared so she will not talk now. Everything has been too scary, overwhelming and now she will not talk to anybody. She will not and she is not allowed. But she is too scared to sleep tonight. She will hide instead, alone, huddled in a blue blanket, shaking and scared.

I walk a dreadfully narrow & fragile tight rope and there often there is no safety net beneath me. And as such, a slight wind will often make me stumble and fall right back into the cavernous black hole that I spent a significant amount of time climbing out of. I used to be so thick skinned, but my skin seems to have been scoured into a transparent epidermis that now barely covers my flesh. And I do not know why words seem to rip right through that now clear layer of covering and sear through the sensitive tissue beneath. But they do, and just like that, I am back in a place where I feel like I must punish myself. And I want to feel the pain externally on my body because the interpretations of the verbal words I hear resonate through me and each time the words are repeated, the internal pain increases.

And it does not stop there. The words become thoughts and the thoughts turn into internal voices that torture me and say terrible things. They torment me and tell me that I am worthless, that I will never be able to get through this, that I am a bad, filthy little girl and I deserved everything that happened to me. And the truth is that I cannot find a voice to tell me that is not true and it then feels commonsense and spot on to me. And the frightened little Nita says, “I know, I deserve to be hurt. Let him hurt me because I am bad. I will always be bad.”

During the day I manage to quiet the voices, and push them deep down inside of me because I have to function during the day, I cannot allow myself to fall apart. But every day I am a virtual time bomb that cannot be disarmed, and when the darkness falls, the device beeps and I blow up. And the reality is there is a gaping chasm between ‘healing’ and where I am right now. And frankly, I am not even sure healing is possible. And I want to give up. I work so hard to climb out of the darkness, back onto the tightrope, toward the light, only to have something else knock me back off again.

When that all too familiar wind blows and knocks me from the rope, I try to hang on. I try not to allow myself to fall completely into the darkness, the place where there is no shred of hope left. But I often wonder what it is I am holding on to, and what I am holding on for. And I do not know why I am still holding on. Not anymore.

There are too many competing voices. They all have wants and needs and I am too tired to listen to them anymore. They will never become one. They are too different to be integrated. And I am so tired. And the rope is burning through the already thin layer of skin on the palms of my hands and it hurts and I want to let go. I want to let go. I want to let go of the rope and the pain and the anger. I want to let go of the depression and the tears and the fear. There is no balance now, there is only vertigo, and it is so hard to hang on.

It would be so easy to just let go.

What do you need right now, Nita?*

Shelter from the storm...that’s what I would like right now, that’s what I need right now, dear therapist. Shelter from the storm.

I don’t doubt my determination to survive and yet here I am crying again. Crying and wishing for some GD shelter from the storm…the therapist does not question my commitment or desire to continue to work through this and someday come out on the other side. At least I don’t think he does.

I can’t find my safe place now…it was such a fragile structure to begin with, made of straw and easily blown away in a storm. But it did exist two years ago. It did. And for the first time in my life I felt understood, safe, ‘real’. My safe place was a place I could be angry and sad, and hopeless. A place I could ask for guidance in the midst of confusion; a place of encouragement and comfort. A place where I could find shelter from the storm.

But I can’t find it now! I feel like I am on the edge of tumbling into oblivion due to my own intransigence and inability to let the therapist back in.(or anybody) And I desperately need him tonight…shelter from the rain, stability in the wind, comfort in the thunder and lightning that is threatening me now.

And what is maddening to me is if the therapist walked up to me right now, with a stadium sized umbrella and said, “Nita, come in and I will give you shelter from the storm.” I still stand in the rain, wind and thunderstorm and decline his umbrella because of my fear he would just wrench it away before the storm was over.

So, here I sit, like a frightened child, on my own little island, surrounded by the storm, crying my eyes out over loss and betrayal…on an endless search for shelter from the storm.

Here I sit arguing with myself!

"Nita, you can't do it alone.  He wants to help you - take the **** umbrella!"  
"No!  I won't take it!  I don't need his **** umbrella!"  
"Fine! You stupid baby! Suffer by yourself then ~ stubborn little *****!"  
"I said take the umbrella!"

Messed up?  That does not even begin to cover it.

Fathers' Day is kind of a difficult "holiday" for me. In a lot of ways, my dad was a good dad. We were always fed and clothed, had a roof over our heads, and have plenty of good things to remember. This might sound horrible but sometimes I try really hard NOT to think about the ways he was a good dad, because it sort of makes me blame myself for the ways he was not. I think, "he has so many good qualities, it must have been something about me." In my mind, I know it wasn't my fault, but in my heart, it's a bit more difficult to "get it."

So this Fathers' Day I have decided to try to think about only the good things and not the bad, as far is my dad is concerned. And to pretty much just try to make the day about my children's dad and other dads I happen to know who are great, even though they might not be my dad.