The Prison inside my mind.

Does Therapy work?

There has been many times when I have gone to a doctor, to not only talk about my feelings but somehow find a way to cope with my overwhelming feelings that get out of control from time to time. And each time, I sit in front of a stranger, wanting to talk, but each time I feel as if judgement is passing. As if I'm not talking to a friend, but rather a stranger who is constantly accessing me, seeing what they can fix about my broken soul. And each time, I go to the initial interview, the introduction, and I schedule the second one, and each time I never show. Is it the fear of being vulnerable? Of opening locked doors I have locked and stored away for many many years? Afraid to let the monster out of the closet? I never know, as it is always too costly to go to someone. Always costing money to ask for help. Yes, everyone needs to make a living, but somewhere along the way, did they forget that they originally wanted to genuinely help others? Would they ever sacrifice thousands of dollars for someone whom they believe needs helping hand? But does not have the money to afford it? People say money doesn't matter. There's groups and programs out there for people in need, but I think they tend to forget, that people don't want to go to numerous amount of time and energy just to get one person who may or may not enjoy their job anymore and finds it a chore to go to work. There was one doctor I met, someone who believed in me when I was going through a tough time. Someone who said I have the ability to climb mountains once both him and I figure out how to deal with my trauma, my anxiety, and my depression. But like a child, I was scared. Always felt alone. Didn't want to open my heart, thoughts, and soul to anyone for the fear that they do not believe me. That they can't make it go away, that they won't understand my problems and troubles. And then I'll be one curled up in my room, disappointed, just like I was when I was a child. When no one believed me. When everyone refused to believe what I was telling them. Because what more does a child understand? It must be nonsense! So I kept all those feelings inside. Until one day the floodgates opened, and someone whom I promised I would never tell her story she told me to anyone, believed in me. Someone who got everyone's attention. Understood that she needed to be my backbone when I didn't have the strength to go to someone about my problems. Someone who got someone to listen to my story, while she held my hand, as I recounted it over and over. Once to the teacher, once to the principle, once to the detective. And it hurt. Each time, opening floodgates of memories, of flashbacks, of fears as a child when I felt alone. And it hurt. Felt like a knife in my heart. But slowly, everyone helped. And along the way, they built a case. During that time I suffered. Some people in my family blamed me. Said I was an embarrassment for them. And still didn't believe me. And yes. It hurt, when people whom you have grown up with, someone whom you have lived with all of your life, hurts you like none other. You can't help but blame yourself. Was what I did okay? Should I have just stayed quiet? But then, I had people who believed me. Strangers who did their day to day job, saw that a pre-teen was suffering. And helped. Someone like the detective who worked hard every single day to help others. Whom made me believe in myself, who made me realize if I didn't do anything about it, this person might do to others what he did to me. Might make others suffer what I went through. Who told me, that yes it will hurt to face my fears, that I'll be hurt for awhile, but that it'll get better with time. I'll find closure. I'll feel safe. And he was right. It took many years, from 8th grade till this day and age when I'm 22. I suffered. Suffered when I was alone, had to hide my pain when I was around others so they didn't know the pain I was going through. I pushed people away. People whom probably did care about me and loved me. But I pushed them away. Because I always asked, if blood didn't love me and believe me, even asked me to forgive that monster to not go to court to not pursue this craziness who else would learn to love me? Who else would care for me? But I did it anyways. By myself. I suffered, hid my pain, and eventually I became numb. Numb of pain, numb of feelings, and that was okay. Until one day towards finals week, I had anxiety, was stressed, missed classes, I felt depressed. Always did when I had a bad feeling. My gut had always been correct. And there it was, my phone ringing, I answered it. On the other end of the line, were those words.. They're finally continuing the case. We're going to court. And then those floodgates opened. The overwhelming feeling. The helpless feeling.. The one where my control slipped. The memories, the nightmares the face raced through my mind.. On repeat. Over and over and over and over. Till it drove me mad. Had the option of flying to a different country. Get away. So I did. For two months I got away. Still receiving updates on the court process. But it kept getting pushed back. And for one moment. I wanted to give up. Take the easy way out. Why face the monster under my bed? The one I haven't thought up for years. But no, I had to be strong. For myself. For those potential lives I can save.
And on that day, where I was summoned. Was terrifying. Sitting in front of strangers to my right. Who would hear stories of my suffering. Who would pass judgement on my life. And in the left corner, on that table, sat the one monster I have not looked at in years. I didn't look, for I did not want to look. I put a wall between me and them. For I fear that I would truly go mad. And there on the stand I answered question after question. Explained painful memories after painful memories until I become numb. I said words I was uncomfortable with. And the whole time I questioned my life, myself. Will people believe that I am telling the truth? All my life people have denied it. Will someone see the truth? Will someone understand the suffering? Will they understand the trauma? Will they put away the monster that has plagued my mind? That has violated my body, my soul, my life? Like a vampire, slowly sucking the life away from me. One bit at a time. But I stayed strong. For that detective was there. The one who believed in me when others didn't. The one who was a mere stranger to me one day, and became an important figure in my life. I told my story, let the pain and suffering numb me over. And then I walked out. But that face back on, the one where when one looks, no one would realize the suffering I went through. No one would give me those sympathetic eyes. No one who would ask me if I'm okay. If I want to talk about it. Because I didn't feel like talking. I wanted to curl up in bed, and cry until there were no more tears to cry. Until I was exhausted my eyes will close and I would pray I slip into a dreamless sleep. Just like that day after day until the sentence came. My attorney asked me if I wanted to come. But I was done. I said my piece. I did not want to see the monster again. For I feared two things. Wanting to make him pay for what he had done to me. For he had robbed me of many things. My innocence of the world. But I also feared that they didn't believe me. That they would set him free. To rampage the city. To let him rob others just like he robbed me. So I stayed away. Anxious for that phone call. That email that I had to read. For the possibilities could be endless. As I heard a ding. as I read the email. 150 years with 3 consecutive  years.
I could finally find some closure.
A part of me was finally free.
I could finally breathe.
I could finally begin living my life.