sigh I could see it coming. Really, I could. But I hoped it wouldn’t come to this… again. This time it came up in a flaming stream of indignation, rather than a smoldering rage. So it seemed all the more embarassing. And yet, I felt the need to just let it all out. Normally, I would retreat for a while in a situation like, hiding until I figured everyone forgot, or if the aftermath was bad, I’d just burn bridges and cut ties… which actually, has been more frequent than not. One of my psychological reactions, at least according to the experts, is “hyper-vigilant” narcissistic personality disorder. I can’t remember to what extent I explained things to them. But can you blame me? A mother cuts a son’s sense of sexuality and relationship more or less right down to the core– how else could I have reacted? And the effects still linger… my mother doesn’t understand why Cimmy is mad at her. Don’t get me wrong, we weathered each others’ traumas, and supported each other through the flashback storms, even though it was hard to take. There is nothing more frustrating when you want to help, but feel powerless to do so, and I’d say Cimmy feels that more often than I do, or just voices it more often… or realizes that feeling more often. I remember telling my current bishop in an e-mail about my situation… his reply? “Your mother made a mistake and you need to forgive her.” That’s not incorrect, but it’s a very poor damage assessment. You don’t just go tell someone who’s experienced abuse that without providing some help in how to come to grips with it– and looking at Cimmy and others I’ve met in that boat, where abuse was more direct, if you will, I know this is a process that takes decades. Humanity is fallible. That is the biggest struggle of faith I have had– having to rely on fallible humans. God is not– and I know The One has transcended this by taking on the pains, infirmities, disappointments, and strife of His people. That is something that cannot be stripped from me, because I have felt fragments of memories that had been obscured by the veil of time and mortality that say it is so. I am sure dear family that have passed and are likely reading this weep to see me struggle with it. I can think of one in particular– but I dare not speak her name, for I cannot let anything so intensely personal and sacred be mocked directly. I’m not just esoteric in my beliefs– the things that I have come to know, I keep that guarded. Counseling is full… of women. And they can’t say they wouldn’t feel the same way in my shoes… for I can’t imagine a woman that survived rape or abuse would be comfortable hashing it out with a man. And a lot of them still adhere to a psychology I believe has been strong-armed by politics– a few of them insist that the sexuality element isn’t a reaction in any way– it’s innate, inborn, and I am self-loathing to not embrace it. Fuck you. You are bound as a professional to help what I consider my best interests. I can’t pursue that and keep my wife and family– and not injure them in some way… injure them more than they might be already. I’m still bummed I lost my last case worker. He was a real guy’s guy and very congenial– and on the same page as I was, supportive of what I’ve been doing to recover and heal. And some things will probably change for the better with the new agency (since previous entries), but I expect there will be nonsense there too as there honestly is not enough mental health care in this area. I’m not going to my support group anymore. One of the members backstabbed me, claiming I was condescending and pretentious. Y’know what, that was never my intention, dude, so fuck you too. Even if I wanted to go, the pain from the back injury has squelched my desire to go much of anywhere outside the house, and since my meds aren’t 100% covered yet, I can’t be sure I’m emotionally stable to go back into a potentially tense situation like that. The advisor promised to call me, but he hasn’t, and I’ve never been able to call him when his voicemail is full… that is, if I call and his voicemail is full, or even if I can leave a message, he’s not going to really check it anyway. Hah. This is why I got a pager, so I’d never be nailed down to mobile phone voicemail bullshit games… “Oh, I never check my voicemail” crap. It’s limited to my three city area, but that suits me just fine. If I must have a phone, Cimmy lets me borrow her pay-as-you go, always on her suggestion. I’ve resisted the urge to buy one of my own, but I’m happy to buy minutes and put them in if she needs me to. I don’t know what else to say. It’s not terribly fair on me to dump on y’all like this. At the very least, I should have vented here instead of out in the open.