I wrote this to a sorta friend about healing. Has language, but has a point.
Healing? What a crock of shit. I lost the first 23 years because of two sicko rapists. The next 18 years was also a waste of time and energy trying to get help from therapy. They did nothing but make it worse. God sent no one to fix it either. I don't feel anything and I'm sick of hurting and sick of loneliness. So, f*ck it and fake it. There are so many fakes and users in the world as it is. How do I know what I am now isn't real? I don't go around screwing people over. So, what's the big deal? I'll f*cking be damned if I'm gonna spend the rest of my life looking for this elusive bullshit idea called healing, which has to come before adulthood I think, certainly will be damned I'm gonna spend even more money on f*cking shrinks who can't find their asses with two hands if you gave them a map.
I don't wanna be mad, bitter and jealous anymore. Why? I ain't getting what I'm looking for. There's no point in it. Cut my losses and spend what's left of life on me and me alone. Want a partner and love? Get a great career and have money and stability and you'll get more than you can handle. Plenty of weirdos out there like you who don't want kids and just want to see how many times you can make each other come and have fun. Hell, you've slept with some of them. You love sex. SO? Did any of your partners ever complain? Nope.
F*ck perfectionism. You don't have to be perfect and neither does anyone else. So, what's the point of going through all that shit--journaling, writing, tell how I was raped at 3? Not one bloody thing. I got screwed out of feeling much, having many emotions. Life's a bitch. Forgive those losers that stole from me and hurt me, cause none of them were obviously human, forgive myself, forget the past and discover what I like and just have fun.
I look at people who say they are better off after 5, 10, 15, 20 years of ther-rapy. Really? (Unless you were locked in the asylum, really?) Hate to say it, but I don't sit around thinking about my rape (or other shit) 40 years ago daily. All I thought about was, shit happened, how do I fix it? I got mad at the other stuff I found people stole from me. But, I didn't know till recently. Being mad was normal. But, anger gets you no where. I cried over the losses years ago and wasn't comforted at all. I don't see the point of writing what happened over and over and crying and crying about it.
It's done. It happened. You can't change it. I think life is telling me, it doesn't really get fixed. Healing really is nothing but an illusion. Some buy the illusion, and some, like you, smarty genius, realize it's utter bullshit that is just a feel better illusion that keeps lots of shrinks in jobs. There is no goal line. There is no finish line. There is no healing to some concept of normalcy but making the best of it, which destroys its power, and that's it. It is really that simple.
Yeah, I still hope those useless shrinks I had choke on the cash they ripped me off for. But, I ain't pissed about it and want to shove my foot up their asses anymore. Lesson learned. Therapy is mostly a joke except a few really good ones that are hard to find. If I feel one day, I feel. If I don't, well, life's a bitch. I'm not stuck on disability and I can function fine and have in jobs. I want a life not a job beating my head against the wall looking for this illusion called healing, which, I don't see in too many people anyway. I'm gonna go discover myself (likes and dislikes) and find a future. F*ck the past. It has no place in my future. Good luck, everyone.
Thanks, Safenow, for the grounding technique.