I had a phone consultation with a potential new therapist today. My old therapist and I had practiced what to say on these consultations, since disclosing my truth can be very triggering. When I had left the message for her a couple weeks ago, I told her that her profile interests me because she advocates for pets and works with pet grief. I had told her that pet loss is something that I am working on in therapy. Today she brought that up when asking what I’d like to work on. I told her the line my old therapist and I had prepared. “Last summer, I was the victim of a severely abusive relationship and I lost both of my dogs to it.” A pause and the usual “I’m so sorry.” And then she asked, “Are the dogs still living?” She said it slowly. “No,” I responded. And that cut me. It’s the shock that never goes away. The harsh reality, and it’s been my truth for over a year now. But it still cuts me. No, my dogs aren’t living. They died. They’re dead. They were killed. I didn’t go any further past my answer of “no,” because that’s what therapy is for. I mean, it’s a 15 minute phone call. I don’t really have the time to get into the fact that both of my dogs died in my arms.
But it’s the truth, and it still cuts me. My dogs aren’t alive. They aren’t here with me. This is a profound loss that I have suffered. And it’s my reality. As much as I sometimes want to deny it. It’s my reality. It’s my history. It’s my story. It’s me. My reality.
I moved to Denver last week. In fact, one week ago today. It’s a fresh start. It’s a new place, new people, an exciting new adventure. And I’ve been mulling over the idea this week of my reality. Of not wanting my history to be my reality. Of thinking if I want to leave all of that behind me. And that’s the denial. These people don’t know me. My new coworkers don’t know me. They don’t know my story. They don’t know what I’ve gone through. They don’t know that I’m secretly and not-so-secretly the absolute bravest badass they’ll probably ever come across. But nobody here knows my story, my truth. And I’ve been grappling with that.
Moving here is a fresh start but my reality is my reality. I’ve been in denial and that’s a natural part of all this. But I understand that my reality is my truth. I’m terrified to date. I mean really, terrified. The idea of getting to know another man, of talking to him, of going on dates, of bringing him in to my home, of letting him around my beloved pets, of getting close and intimate with him (I’m talking even being in close proximity physically), it terrifies me. I haven’t been ready to date since this all happened. Dating hasn’t been something that I’ve worked on in therapy yet, and I know I will, but I’m terrified. I know it’s going to be very triggering. This is a huge thing I haven’t worked on. Trusting someone, going through the parts of a relationship that I experienced with Mat (not even the abuse but the doing things together, all that). I’m scared. And I know I will work on it, but it’s my reality. I know I have these triggers, and that’s my truth. This horrible, horrible thing happened to me. So yes, I’m in a new place. I moved away from the fucked up system that traumatized me even more. I moved from the places that Mat and I had been together. I no longer drive past the pond we would go to or pass the streets we drove down. I don’t worry so much anymore about seeing him. But the thought is still there.
I had a panic attack the other night. My dad helped me move out here and he left on Monday. I figured I’d be independent and go grocery shopping. So I went to the grocery store down the street, thinking this would be a quick trip to the store. But it was horrible. There were so many sketchy figures in and outside of the grocery store. None of my normal foods were there or looked good. I was scared. Really scared. I was there alone. Not just in the grocery store, but in this new city, completely alone. And I was triggered. The people I was around reminded me of the people Mat was associated with. I was triggered into feeling isolated, completely alone and scared, as I had been with Mat. It was a really bad experience. I finished up, got in my car, and stopped for dinner at the Culver’s next to my apartment. I had planned to cook dinner, but I needed a taste of home to comfort me.
And so, as I reflect on this, I don’t feel as guilty about my past. This is my truth, my story, and I own it. It’s hard. It will always and forever be a part of me. This new setting, this new adventure, is for me. For my personal well-being, for my independence, for my growth, for my healing. But it’s not me running away from my history, my truth, my trauma. No. I’m embracing it. I’m acknowledging that all of these horrible things have happened to me and I deserve to be in a place that is good for me. The nature, the mountains. Oh, the mountains. Every day I drive to work and the mountains are on the horizon. It’s gorgeous. I was stressed going to work today and then I saw the view of these mountains, and I felt peace. And that’s why I’m here. I have my trauma, I own it, but the mountains help. I’m still me, this is still me and my truth, and I can feel peace. I’m allowed to feel peace. It doesn’t mean I’m denying my reality. No, I’m just loving myself.
Sarah's Story 