If the Truth Were Told

I even said a prayer before my session with Therapist today and asked God that I not be so guarded and to help me be open to change.  But what transpired between me and Therapist was more than I bargained for, and I deeply regret it.

As I remember it, the discussion centered around purging and how I think eating makes me a whore.  I didn’t understand these feelings, so he asked something around the idea of did I want to know why there might be the association of food being dirty and how eating makes me a whore.

Here’s where it derailed on my side.  

I said yes.

Therapist tells me the food association correlates with an abuser on whom oral sex was performed by  me/we/he/she/they/it.  

  1. I don’t remember this event or telling Therapist of it.
  2. I don’t want to know this event.
  3. This event must be a lie.

Throughout the day, I reflected on this piece of “history” that has been told to me, but of which I have no recollection, and I find myself greatly disturbed.  It has me twisted in knots and made me profoundly sullen and sad.  I can barely breathe.

I’m left holding a piece of a memory that doesn’t belong to me but still troubles me deeply, and I don’t know how to escape this purgatory.  

If the truth were told, I think this has set me back in terms of therapy, and I feel hopeless all over again.

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