A Confession

Fine, I admit it.
I'm having a hard time writing about you. It's been weeks since I cared for you, but for some reason I can't get you out of me head. I really wish I knew why the hell I let you get to me. I'm ashamed, embarrassed, frustrated, pissed. No, not at you. At me. It's not your fault that you are troubled. It's not your fault that you suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. At your age of 57, it's not your fault that you can't control your destructively manipulative tendencies. I should have known I was up for a challenge when I read that you used to be a lawyer. I had met my match. Did you know that when I was growing up, my parents joked that I would be a lawyer? Yup, it was because I could argue the crap out of anything, and always win. Thanks to you, I'm glad I didn't become a lawyer. At least you gave me that clarity. Maybe if I had been able to argue with you, I would have won. If I had given myself permission to be the authority, who knows what would have happened. But no, I'm just the incapable, fresh, virgin, submissive nursing student, whom you can walk all over and take for granted because I don't know how much respect I deserve yet. I am going to ask your permission for everything, because for some reason I think it's acceptable for you to deny an important aspect of your care that I'm providing. It makes me sick to think of myself as that person. I am strong, I am independent, I am confident. From the first words you spoke to me, you took all of that away. I became obedient and I gave you control of every situation. I'm so angry that you betrayed the relationship I thought we had established. We had a breakthrough moment. You called me in your room just to tell me I was "going to be a great nurse someday." I told you about my education and my career interests when you asked. You took advantage of it all. You took advantage of the fact that I was a vulnerable student and young woman so that you could get under my skin and control me like a damn puppet. And I let you do it. How could I have possibly wanted your approval? I'm so disgusted that I let myself care this much. But aren't we supposed to care about our patients? How can I stay distant and detached while still gaining your trust? Where did I cross the line? I want to yell at you because YOU were the one who crossed the line. You broke that trust and respect that women are supposed to have for other women. But I will not blame you. You are a sick person. I will take this one for the team. I will not give you the satisfaction of being responsible for my feelings. You don't deserve it. I am in control now.