I see you say you were brutally raped...now how does that make you feel?

So...the topic for the day is therapists. I hate therapists. I had my first encounter with one at the age of 10. She was the Christian type, said "uh huh" a lot and continually reminded me that no one was perfect except Jesus. It didn't bother me that she was Christian, it bothered me that all of my beliefs (ie: that dolls have some kind of life existence just because children believe they do) were symptoms of me being some kind of crazy, yet her religious beliefs were totally normal. I guess that goes back to the fact that it's not a delusion if it's shared. Then there was Dr. Old Douche I saw when I was 17. He was a bit of a behaviorist, with a lot of "Dr. it hurts when I do this," "durrp well then don't do that," style advice. He agreed with me when I told him no one would miss me if I died. Then there was the crazy old lady who ran an operation out of her basement and only accepted cash and checks because apparently dealing with credit cards is too "expensive" for a therapist to deal with.

After these experiences, I was pretty much done with therapy. Unfortunately for most people with depression, we're also addicted to the laced placebos they call antidepressants. And when you're addicted to antidepressants, you'll heavily consider suicide anytime you forget to take them. Because of this, I had to find a new pill doctor to give me something less useless than Zoloft...which ended up being the slightly less dangerous but equally useless Lexapro. He also kept pushing me to do therapy with the, "so how would you feel about therapy, you know I would really like us to do therapy, so I'll put you down for next week how's that okay see you then." I figured therapy was a good idea but sort of felt like I'd hurt the guy's feelings if I didn't give him a try. Fast forward a few weeks.

This guy looks like a gay leprechaun. He always wears pink, mint green, or white collared shirts with suspenders and he has red hair and a red beard. When I talk to him, he never takes notes like a normal psychiatrist: just nods and smirks a little. The last straw was the other day when I told him I was angry that my (astral) rapist was on facebook now. He said.

"Well it seems that the problem isn't what you might do with her, the problem is this conflict in yourself between this rape victim role where you get to be overpowered by passion that appeals to you and this kind of prudish virgin role."

I wanted to beat this guy up. Seriously...THE RAPE VICTIM ROLE DOES NOT APPEAL TO ME! Even if some kind of S&M-ish ideals appeal to me, as per Larissa, I know that the reality is not a romance novel where you get "overpowered by passion" that you can't be held accountable for. Reality is being used and fought and stolen from and thrown out and abandoned, most rapists don't even have the common decency to acknowledge you after or give you any validation that it even happened. When I say I was raped I don't mean I had a wet dream. I started to tell him that I can't deal with people who don't believe me and he smirked again and gave me the "time's up when are you paying me" line.

I want to fire this guy but he makes me feel so guilty for questioning him, like "he's the expert and I'm just the stupid patient." I hate that feeling and I just want to get out of this, but I still need meds. This really sucks.

Answers

About a month ago, my best friend and I started talking about the reality of my situation and agreed that there was absolutely no way I was ever going to find answers. My rapist was never going to admit what she did to me, and I would never know if the incredibly fucked up double-life as a victim and sex slave to a girl I barely knew in my waking life was entirely my own sick depraved inner fantasy.

About three/four weeks ago, I reunited with an old high school acquaintance whose boyfriend lost his virginity to the woman I believed to be my rapist. I kept trying to get at why this acquaintance hated Rapist so much, but was only getting trivial answers like, "she told on me when I stole something for her in 8th grade," or "she's a total bitch," but the absolute despising my friend had for this woman suggested that she was guilty of more than tattle-taleing.

The conversation progressed and I confessed that I was still having nightmares about this woman, at whichpoint my friend said fairly blankly, "My boyfriend wants to speak with you about her."

Within a couple of hours, I was on AIM with the guy and he confessed to me that my rapist is definitely a physical rapist and at least an attempted psychic rapist, and that he was her first victim...she raped him when she was a fucking virgin. When I heard this, I burst into tears. I had convinced myself that I loved this woman for YEARS to keep the truth from being "she invaded my mind and raped me, enslaved me if you will, for THREE YEARS."

Next morning I left her a message saying simply, "I can't fucking wait to see you on Maury when karma fucks you harder than your rape victims you stupid piece of shit!!!!!!!"

Not the most mature thing ever, but I was fucking pissed. And "dearie" if you're reading this right now (which you probably aren't, because you hate the internet) I hope you understand, genuinely understand, that I was the only person on your side for a long time...the only person with an IQ higher than their age who sincerely wanted to believe in your goodness despite a LOT. If somehow I'm absolutely psychotic and wrong about you, you have my permission and plea to try and explain yourself. You've put a lot of people through hell, and owe us all that much at least.

Don't...

However far I try to pull myself away from her, no...the farther I pull myself away from her, the more chaos I run into. It's always at the point when I'm just starting to get over her (as if), just moving on with my life, just making things happen for myself and someone ruins my buzz and reminds me of her...and gives me this tiny window of hope that I could touch her somehow. Not touch her as in physically...no I'm far too romantic, far too scared for that right now. I was offered her phone number, and I want to hear her. I don't remember her enough, yet I know I'd recognize her voice anywhere...I have never heard anyone who sounds remotely like her. She has wanted me before, she has even cared about me before...so why won't she come back for me? Now I suppose she has a baby on the way, but why never before? Why wasn't I good enough? My best friend thinks I'm too good...but it sure as hell never feels that way...when you fall in love with someone...a rapist no less...and they won't take you when you hit rock bottom and strip your pride and make yourself a sacrificial offering. Is this disgusting you, dear reader? I don't blame you...it disgusts me too, because of its lame...emotional nature more than its "you poor dear you have no self-worth" aspects.

Somebody told me women can't rape today. It later became a "no that's not actually what I said, yadda blah" and she wouldn't listen to anything else I said, then tried to act like she was being the reasonable one and I was just attacking her. I'm sorry but what she said sounded pretty much like an attack to me whether she meant it or not...I think the thing that riles me more than anything in the world (this isn't an exaggeration) is people failing to realize that I'm not wrong...that I'm legitimate in my feelings and that they can't just decide I did something when I didn't and bitch me out...without due process of law...ugh.