There is no witness to my suffering

The origins of my CPTSD have been one of the most heartbreaking things I've talked about in therapy this year. I've been going to therapy for almost a decade, on and off and with different therapists, and I'd never had the courage to talk about it as openly and brutally as I have now. Needless to say, it's been difficult. During one of my sessions, after talking for a long time and feeling somewhat overwhelmed by desperation, I asked my therapist why it was so hard to overcome the abuse I'd suffered at the hands of my parents. I told her I was sick of still carrying so much hatred and resentment inside me despite my best efforts; that no matter how much time passed, one way or another, I kept coming back to what had hurt me. The first thing she did was ask me what made me so angry. My answer was that I thought it was unfair that I'd been a victim of abuse, that I constantly thought about how all the harm they'd caused had gone unpunished, and that I hadn't even received an apology…