Today was my first therapy session since I opened the "sophomore-year-event" can of worms. Eeck, I was dreading it.
My last therapy session left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Not really feelings I like to seek out.
The surge of emotions took me by surprise. The protective wall I had invested so much energy in building up over the past nine years was shockingly fragile. I know that I need to process what happened, but I miss the shelter of my wall.
I am lucky to have a wonderful therapist who is extremely supportive and whom I trust very much. Still, today's session was a somewhat déjà vu experience for me. For whatever reason, it reminded me all too well of the first time I told a professional about what happened. In a way, telling the professional resulted in my trust being violated a second time.
During the first few days following the event, I was a wound-up mess. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't preparing for exams, at least not productively. I was going through the motions of my life, but I wasn't connected to my life. I could have essentially described my life to someone objectively, but it wouldn't have felt like mine. Really, it's hard to put my state of mind at that time into words.
I remember trying to write an art history paper and only producing three disjointed paragraphs. The words were present on my computer, but they were completely void of meaning. I soon realized I was in no state to go through exams.
I walked into the student counseling center on campus and told an available counselor that I felt completely out of sorts and was unable to take my exams. She asked me what I meant by this, and I confided in her that I didn't feel anything but anxious energy, that I suspected something bad had happened when I had been drinking heavily a few nights prior, that I knew I should be upset, but instead I felt completely removed from everything. And a little hyperactive.
The clinician listened as I was telling the story, and then simply asked if I would like to "go to the hospital and sleep for a few days" because "that will make it easier to excuse you from exams." There was no mention of the psychiatric ward.
I honestly pictured myself asleep in a hospital bed having Jello-O brought to me after I awoke from a long medication-induced nap. It sounded wonderful.
She asked me if I was ready to go over right then, and I told her that I needed to go to my dorm to pack some things. She told me that it would be better if I went ahead now and had a friend bring my stuff over later. I thought that was a little annoying, but I agreed. Hell, anything to not take exams. Still no mention of the psychiatric ward.
She told me to head over to the ER and she'd let them know I was coming.
I need to take a break and will finish a little later.