Ever Physically Feel Five Years Old?

I have therapy in an hour or so and I kind of want to go and kind of don't want to go. Last week, was my first time with a new therapist and I had to rehash all of that bad shit that happened to me in my life. I didn't even get to all of it and it took me up until yesterday to finally start feeling good again. I don't want that to happen again this week. So, I'm scared.

She asked me to define some goals for therapy so that we could have something to work towards. I can't come up with anything other than: I don't want to keep feeling like shit. I did tell her last week that I wanted to become better at conflict resolution. When I get angry, I respond like a hurt child most of the time instead of an adult. I don't think I'm the only one with that problem. I think it's pretty common. As a matter of fact, I lashed out at someone last week who totally didn't deserve it and was really only trying to be kind to me. That makes me feel bad.

I get in these places sometimes where I can't see for the shit right in front of me and I can't hear anything for the voices talking, whispering and screaming in my brain. I actually went several days last week really wanting to self injure and one night where I was seriously considering suicide, but I did none of those things. The voices can get pretty bad sometimes and they say the most horrible things.

One night last week, I was laying in bed watching a movie (Pan's Labyrinth) and I had the sensation of my body getting smaller and smaller until when I looked out at my hands and arms, they looked like a little girl's. I felt about 4 or 5 years old in my body, but in my head I was still the same and wondering why my body had just shrunk 35 years. I didn't have too much time to wonder about it though, because the meds I take at night kicked in right about then and I was off to dreamless sleep.

That's another thing: I really don't like to dream. They're always pretty weird and fucked up. I mean, some of them are weird-funny, but most of them aren't. Most of the time when I dream, I wake up either crying or pissed or both (or had been crying in my sleep). This is why I need very, very good coffee in the mornings. Not that it makes much sense in the rational world, but for me, good coffee chases away the boogie man/men/women (whatever). So, now I have an excuse for being a coffee snob/freak.

At least my new therapist doesn't refer to me in the plural and she can hear me without my having to repeat myself umpteen times and she can actually see me. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least.

The more I think about going to therapy, the more anxious I get and the more I don't want to go. It shouldn't be this way, should it?