My Abusive Therapist Murdered My Soul

A while ago I heard about a woman who died (and was apparently murdered). I feel the same, dead. I feel like someone murdered me too. I feel like a part of me has been lost, killed, destroyed. (Though granted feelings are not reality and at least I’m not actually dead. Also when you are dead I’m guessing that you don’t feel dead. You don’t get a chance to even feel that). I feel like the same level of hate came against me.

It’s not that I feel that I’m not the same person I once was. It’s that I feel like the person I once was is dead. He murdered her (and the people who enabled him murdered her). That is how I feel.

Obviously I’m still alive but it feels like soul murder to be trying to escape your highly abusive father (who you in fact live in fear that he will kill you) and to have your therapist evilly and intentionally re-expose you to him. That kind of betrayal is soul murder. There aren’t even words to describe it.

You feel that that part of you that had hope in being able to get away and that part of you that trusted people to, if not help you get away and if not help you, at least to not betray you and attack you, has been killed. Your abuser went to great lengths to make you feel undeserving and crush you and now a therapist has gone to great lengths to do the same. I feel like a part of me has been murdered. That part of me is no more.

There is no doubt in my mind that my abusive therapist wanted to utterly destroy me and on some level I feel like this is what has happened.

He wanted to destroy me simply for existing as a trauma survivor and as an underdog.

When people were trying to get me to leave my abusive therapist (like leaving an abusive partner, somehow it is always women’s responsibility to make the right “choice” and leave abusers or else we are partially to blame for their continued abuse or at least we will incur the disapproval, reproof and reprehension of our “friends” for not leaving) I remember someone saying, “It’s like sawing off cutting off your arm in the forest with a pocket knife in order to survive.” Actually no it’s like being dead. It’s like having been murdered. It’s like, “This person has killed me and now my ghost is leaving my dead body and the pool of blood.”

There are no words to describe someone unlocking your trauma, unlocking that thing that you are terrified to say happened to you and then attempting to destroy you with it and attempting to us all your “weaknesses” against you. There are no words for the evil of someone figuring out your trauma and then hating you for it and attempting to destroy you simply for existing.

There are no words for someone making you go back into an abusive situation and attempting to sabotage you to make that happen.

The person I was before which he killed, maybe did not feel like people would help me get away from my father but did not feel like people would actively try to hurt me or hate me so much for what my father did to me that they would use me and my suffering as a pawn for their own political aims and that they would attack me for what my father did to me and try to give me back to him to attack. I thought that people would at least do no harm rather than intentionally attack and try to hurt me. That person is dead now.

You could say that I was a starving child who was resigned to many people refusing to give me a fish or bread when I asked. I kept asking because it seemed worth it to ask and be denied for the chance that 1/10000 people might give me a fish or a piece of bread. What I didn’t realize is that some people could want to give me a poisonous snake when I asked for a fish. This is the part of me that my therapist has murdered. This is the thing that I cannot get over.

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