Below is a conversation that I had with my therapist in the room.

Therapist: “Come on in.” she looked at me with a smile.
Therapist: as we sat in the room, she asked “So, are you still without a name?”
Me: “You can call me Alice.”
Therapist: “Alice, I am all-ears. You can tell me whatever you want to tell me.”
Me: I then started sharing to her about the trauma that I have been through. I could hear of her many pitiful sighs about me as she was trying to understand about me.
Therapist: “You were treated like an animal.” she said softly.
Me: I started crying and she was able to hear me with uneven breaths.
Therapist: “You are safe here in this room, sweetheart.”
Me: “I am just a piece of trash from the landfill.”
Therapist: “No, you are not. These are the lies of the abusers. They are all lies.”
Me: I started to get on the floor and hide my face in the corner. I was sitting on the floor at the edge of the sofa, cuddling myself with my hand on my other upper arm tightly and looking down with both of my legs bent. I was avoiding her eye contacts as I continue to cry audibly.
Therapist: “This is just my hand on you.” as she was physically comforting me, as she kneeled down on the ground with me, by placing her hand on my upper arm, gently patting on me for a while. She also was doing this on my back.
Me: I was crying until the end of the session…