Jess's POV
Warning- content about PTSD dreams and suicidal ideation/actions!
Once Ryder left, I couldn't stop thinking about him checking me out. I am super bloated today, maybe he just thought I looked fat. But he did stare at my breasts… Not the most flattering thing, but that doesn't mean he was judging me, right? Oh, gosh, I need to stop overthinking everything he does. Everything everyone does. Good thing I have therapy today.
I left work at the normal time, hoping Ryder wouldn't come back and realize I lied about being there the whole day. I drove to my therapist's office and, once again, sat on my normal couch as I waited to be called back. I really hoped she wouldn't ask me about the homework she gave me. I didn't want to tell her that I threw a tantrum and ripped them up. Luckily, today was a day to focus on my father. Fun… She made me write down the last dream I had about him, which was two days ago. It was so bad that I stayed in bed the whole morning, missing English.
~I am sitting in the kitchen of my old house when suddenly my dad walks in, yelling at me and degrading me. "You're pathetic. You have no right to be mad at all. It is all your fault." I get up and start screaming at him, feeling completely out of control, "Shut the hell up. You're the reason I want to kill myself!" And then I just keep repeating it at him, "I want to kill myself, I want to kill myself, I want to kill myself…" He slaps me across the face hard. I feel the heat come over my cheek and I place my hand over the spot. When I look down, blood drops continue hitting the kitchen floor. Pools of blood start to gather and I feel so overwhelmed and fear that he'll hit me again. I run out of the house and walk up to the big tree. All of a sudden, I have a rope in my hands and I set to working on tying it. One end to the tree branch, another around my neck. The rope is coarse and it pricks around my neck. I haven't done it yet, but I want to. I want to kill myself more than anything- it is the only thing I can focus on. Suddenly, I hear footsteps on the grass, coming towards me. I look up and see my father glaring at me. He starts to help me tie the rope around my neck and I can feel myself starting to suffocate at the mere tightness of the rope. Before he lets me hang there, he soaks the rope in gasoline and pulls out a match. I'm on fire now and I can feel the burning throughout my entire body. But I do not scream. He keeps whispering to me over and over, "You wanted this…" ~
My therapist made me write it all out in the present tense. She said diving deeper into it would be a good form of exposure therapy, making me remember and deal with it head-on. After I wrote it all out, my heart was racing and I could feel myself starting to go into a panic attack. She noticed and quickly started me on a calming exercise. Once I was calm, she asked me what my anxiety level was out of 100 before writing my dream down. "30- low," I answered, looking at the floor. "And after?" she asked. "90." I hate my life.
