I have realized that it is really difficult for me to do anything ONLY for myself, when there is no 'useful' side-effect, or someone else's added joy, but only my own joy or happiness. It feels like going against everything I think is sane or healthy. It's like sticking your hand in fire, while all your body and mind is screaming inside at you, not to do it.
DB has been great at taking care of me while I was ill. The turning point came when I had to prepare medication and other things to help - for myself, on my own. I have somehow managed to do it, because I convinced myself that it is useful if I get better, because then I can continue my work, my projects, and moreover, help others better.
My therapist got me thinking about what would happen if I was to do something for me - that has no health benefits, or helping-others-benefits, that resulted in nothing else but me feeling happy for a moment or two.
To be honest, it feels repulsive. Or disgusting. I have the need, or the desire to feel good, to do things for myself, but I don't know how to forgive myself for that (if this makes any sense).
My therapist also asked me if I liked simple, easily available joys, like watching trees, or having a bubble bath. Now, the latter triggered the hell out of me. It brought back a memory when I tried to make a bubble bath for myself while I was still living with my FOO and was a teen. I put candles around the tub, made some tea and everything was really relaxing and cool. Until NM realized what I was doing. She told me it was like I was lying on my catafalque, and that it was not 'advisable' for me to do it ever again because I could have burned something anyway (note, it was a bathroom. The candles were next to the tub, the only thing they could burn was the water in the tub, or the tiles).
After this event (and also before it, anyway) my bath times were controlled and supervised, even when I was in my twenties. There was no lock on the door, and I had to call for her when I had a bath, to wash my back. If I didn't, she came anyway, but I could not predict when. Or whether she came at all. I had no chance to relax, or even to enjoy the water. I hated being touched. I had to listen to endless speeches about how ugly I looked, with detailed descriptions.
I feel disgusted of myself when I'm writing this.
My therapist referred to this invasion of my private space and my body as what any person would call it. I can't get myself to write down that word now. But that was when I felt the air freeze around me and I started sobbing, while pictures started to try to invade my conscious mind. Detached memory fragments that I can't really make anything out of, and I have tried my hardest not to let them surface. I feel panic and disgust.
Until now, I was confident that it was good for me to put together the bits and pieces. Now, I'm not so sure anymore. The last thing I want now is to remember anything in connection with those memory fragment flashes, I've experienced.