Dear Anyone who will bother to read (part 2),

(hi - this is part 2 of the story, had to separate it bc of the character limit. Your choice if you want to read it or not)

The room where I had my sessions was simple: some shelves on the side, a desk in the middle with one chair nearest to the door - my chair - and one in front of the window - hers. One day I walked into the room to find her, in her chair, with a chess board on her hands, inviting me to play. I had never played chess before in my life, and I told her as much, so she told me to read all the rules out loud. I was very used to her methodology at that point, so I figured this wasn't about chess, she just wanted me to read the rules to catch how well I was pronouncing each word. At that point in time, I was already uncomfortable in that place. Yes, I didn't do the exercises at home because of shame, but the shame of struggling to begin with was also strong. I didn't want to mess it up, I wanted to do better and get out of that place. So I focused really hard, did my best to pronounce every word correctly and, consequentially, didn't actually pay that much attention to what I was actually reading. By the time I was done, she didn't have any comment about how well or badly I spoke. She said we were all ready to begin playing, and play we did. I, of course, was a disaster at it. And she made sure to mock me at every turn, laughing at how bad I was despite having just read the rules. Some days later, my father told me about how she wrote it down on my papers how I had reading comprehension issues. I wasn't brave enough to try to explain myself, I didn't want to be more humiliated from my failures

At some point, every session became something like that. Strangely enough, even though I felt dread stepping into that room, I never consciously recognized something was wrong. Everytime she criticized and humiliated me, it didn't feel like something that shouldn't happen, on the contrary. It felt like the truth. Like she was the one person in my life who wasn't afraid to be honest with me. Everything she said, I absorbed it

And then, one day, when I finished reading a list of words she had given me... She complimented me. She was impressed, really. Said that was the best I had ever performed. Said if I kept it up, maybe I wouldn't have to keep going back there very soon. I was over the moon. For the whole following week, I felt more confident. I even did some of the exercises. The next session came and I remember carefully speaking every word, trying to emulate exactly how I had done the week prior, fully expecting a similar response. Instead, I got the complete opposite

She was never as cold to me as she was on that day. She told me I wasn't even trying, that I was a liar for pretending to want to get better just to never, that I had done no progress at all, told me I should feel guilty for wasting so much of my father time and money. She must have said more, I'm almost sure she did, but at some point, it all became static in my mind. All I could do was agree and, as always, believe her every word. At that point, it wasn't just shame keeping me from trying. Every time I thought about doing an exercise, I'd remember everything she'd tell me, and all I'd want to do is lay in bed and pretend to not exist

At some point, there was this one particular session where she decided to not even try to do he job. Not words, no exercises. Instead, she pulled her phone and began to show me pictures. Girl after girl, all around my age range at the time. From her church, she told me, and "aren't they pretty?"
She proceeded to ask me why I couldn't be like them
I, by all means, didn't take much care of my appearance. My hair was frizzy, I had this one jacket I liked that I'd wear everywhere all the time, I didn't have any interest in make up or any sort of accessories, but to have it asked to me like that felt different. And, for once, I actually tried to argue back. "What's the problem with being different?", I asked, just to be met with another question: "what's the problem with just being normal?"

But, of course, that wasn't enough, so she kept going. She asked me if I had already had my first period (I was 12, it had happened mere months prior), began to talk on and on about being a woman, and then, despite my clear lack of engagement, she turned the conversation into being about romance. She told me, and I quote "as long as you're like that, no one will ever love you"

Later, on my 13th birthday, she told me she thought I already was at least 13. Said something amongst the lines of "I wouldn't have said all that if I knew you were younger". I'm not sure if that changes much of anything

And I'll have to leave this letter here thanks to the character limit again. Part 3 should be the last