While hospitalized, and although I was incredibly broken, I still had that survival instinct that I talked about in earlier blogs.

I wanted to live but I was not sure how.  The pain I felt was so great it was debilitating.

As the weeks went by I worked with different therapist.  I shared what happened in my childhood, being molested by my father, with them.  I also shared how I hurt so much.  I hurt and hurt and hurt.  It seemed to never let up.  Even when my son would come to visit I hurt.  And I hated that I could not stop hurting even for him.

So a therapist suggested that maybe I should confront my Dad.  And, at this point, I had nothing to lose.  I could literally feel myself slipping away.  If I did not do something drastic I knew I would die with or without medication.


So my therapist called my Dad; amazingly, he agreed to come for a one on one therapy appointment.

Before he arrived the therapist and I rehearsed.  And when he arrived he was brought into a room and set at a table across from me.  The therapist sit in between us.


At first I calmly asked him why he molested me.  He answered “I don’t know.”  He had no inflection in his voice.  As if we were just talking about the weather.  I then began to cry, to scream.  I screamed “How can you not know?”  I continued “You have ruined me! I will never be ok!”  He hung his head and said he was sorry.  He said he had seen a therapist himself and he was trying to figure it all out.  He then said “I swear I never touched your sister.”  I screamed back “You are a liar!”  And then I said “I am done!”  I ran out and back to my room.

I did not see my Dad again for awhile.  Oddly the next time I saw him it was as if nothing had ever been said between us.

I was still broken.  But this event gave my meds a chance to start to work.  And before I left the hospital to go and stay with Tammy and James I was numb.  That is what the medicine does.  It numbs you.  And you don’t care because at least you do not hurt anymore!

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