The first T I visited with, I contacted by email, then phone, then in person. She was a Phd so she should have been at the top of her game. On all three of these contacts, she spent an inordinate amount of MY time, not filtering my issue, but explaining her requirements to contact law enforcement. Each time. When she met me in person, her positioning in the office, her elaborate explanation of contacting the police let me know clearly that 1) she felt threatened by my presence. 2) she had not much interest or experience in helping someone of the male gender- let alone one who might have issues of ASA- especially one aged 50+. 3) she fully expected me to admit to a "Sandusky", if you will.

Imagine...I wanted to apologize for being over 6-2, for being 200lbs, for being an educator, for being a male, for...just being me..for being there in that room...I was truly sorry for my very existence at that point.

I was embarrassed, disheartened by her comments and behavior, and deeply offended. She ended the session by giving me a questionnaire on co-dependency (so 1980s) and the 100$ + bill- she didn't accept insurance.

This experience is what every guy wants- the assumption that a sexual assault against his body is his fault because he is co- dependent. I was raped and it was my fault. Yessiree. Those were not her exact words, but I came away with nothing positive- except for the co-dependency questionnaire (my humor is sometimes sharp). I almost gave up the very day I sought help. Actually I did give up.

I suppose I share this because one weak T can truly set anyone of ASA back into the emotional void we all struggle to pull from. On that afternoon visit to that office, not only was I victimized again by words and behavior, it was confirmed what I was fighting against- yep, big guy...it must have been your fault. You were co-dependent!

It wasn't my fault and I'm not co- dependent, but for a few weeks I surely beat the hell out of my spirit believing it was. That was only a couple months ago. A few weeks later, a close friend- who has no idea I was actually raped- recommended someone. It took four visits, but I shared what happened. A few tears actually fell. The door has been opened. This T has not force closed that door. Hopefully, I will find a new beginning. And by the way, nor has this counselor mentioned law enforcement. One day, I may fully cry in her presence...maybe.
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For now we see through a glass, darkly.