Choices.

So, I haven't talked about this at all, but I've started therapy again. I've taken some gargantuan steps. I confronted the ex, literally. I'm facing down my fears, one by one. I love my therapist. She's a really good fit for me. She understands and believes when I tell her I can feel people's thoughts and feelings. She understands and believes when I tell her about doing someone's chart and nailing things and 'seeing' things I should not know. She doesn't doubt me when I say I can take someone's personal item (keys, ring, watch) and describe details of things I have no knowledge of. It's really important that she accept this and not 'tsktsk' it away like many do, because for me this is VERY real. For those physically and emotionally close to me, this is very real. I can't even begin to count the number of people that have run screaming because I'm "too much in my (their) head." I've been called a witch. I've been called creepy. I've been told to 'knock that shit off.'

I used to not hear the noise so loudly. It was always there, but more like a low rumble. Something changed, though. Now, everything is so loud. I hear/feel it all. I go places where there are lots of people and I'm deluged, bombarded, and I'm overwhelmed. Imagine feeling 20 other people's shit, aside from your own, all at once, and all you were trying to do was fucking grocery shop. This, coupled with my PTSD and whacked out fear of my ex, I became a hermit.

So, yeah, therapy. I don't want to be a hermit anymore. I confronted the ex, taunted him even. I've set down that heavy fucking piece of luggage. The only thing holding me back now are the PTSD triggers and The Noise. She and I have started DBT. She reminded me that I could make a bubble. Focus my energy and make a safe bubble around me to deflect the noise.

We had a session yesterday. She got here and she, literally, stopped in her tracks when she saw me. I'd cut my bangs, had on make-up, I was riding high on my self-esteem. She said I was glowing, that my energy was vibrant and all around me. After this weekend and the horrid rantings of Mr. Assmaggot McDouchebag, the old me would have been curled in the corner, weeping. I cried, but not because I believed his rantings, but because he fucking insulted me. He insulted my very core.

LaFemme, my therapist, told me she was proud of me. She was proud of me for standing up for myself, but she was especially proud of me because I really know who I am, down to my deepest crevices. I am able to be the person I am -because- I know who I am, and who I want to be. I have all of the tools to be a bitch that runs over motherfuckers and leaves them smiling anyway. I've got game and skills and manipulation is my forte. I make a conscious choice, everyday, to be who I am, because I -know- I could be someone else. Someone not so kind. I know what I am capable of in my darkness. I choose not to be that.

So, yeah, the motherfucker made me cry. He tried to tear down what I have consciously, deliberately, methodically built in me, a set of ethics and boundaries. Ethics and boundaries I have bound and dedicated myself to honoring. The old me might have folded in defeat, or fought back with purposeful destruction. I cried. Those were tears of rage. Better to cry than revert to old behavior. He wouldn't have liked the old, vengeful me. That bitch was nothing nice.

He can fuck off, I like me. I'm fucking awesome. I'm awesome because I CHOOSE that path everyday, even when it's really fucking tempting to make different choices, easier choices, less honorable choices.