Buried Alive

I've been writing more specifically about my PTSD and recovery over here at Phoenix Fly Right for those who are interested. I'm hoping that blog might be able to help other folks going through similar situations.
Today was my second full day in outpatient therapy... And it's scary and painful and uncomfortable and sometimes so horrible and frightening I want to leave. It's not like I pour my soul out in front of all these people- we all actually don't talk about our individual stuff as much as you might expect- but it's like every emotion is starting to slowly ooze out, but this time I am looking at that wound under a microscope, as I watch all this stuff that's supposed to be inside me come seeping out. I have to face every little detail of every last bit. It's so scary.
Today, we moved rooms several times, and it made me so uncomfortable and so anxious... This place doesn't feel like home or even like I'm any safer than usual, really. It just feels like exactly what it is: this place where I go every day, that's not quite as miserable or cold as work, but it's not quite a place where I want to pour out my soul to all these strangers around me, either. I haven't mentioned rape once in the three days- well, two and a half- that I've been there. I'm scared to tell these military boys that I've survived two rapes. Rape in the Army is a word women use to get someone in trouble. That's the prevailing attitude towards it. I don't know how to talk to these people about what I think about or feel. It's so hard for me to even give them basic parts of my day to day experience. I try so hard, though. I just want to get better. I want to not feel guilty anymore- not about the rapes, about my miscarriage, about Danger dying, about all of these things piled up inside me.
How do you just let that kind of stuff go?
I found out today that the tubal ligation (read: surgery to get my tubes tied) that I underwent at eighteen years old due to some heavy influencing on my mother's part could very likely be reversible, and without any far-reaching crazy experimental surgeries even. I talked to the nurse at the clinic today, and she was very upset when I told her how hard a time I'd gotten when I saw a military doctor about it. He'd wanted me to undergo all these extensive tests and, even if he liked the results of those, he wouldn't even do an exploratory surgery without the records of the surgery. The hospital told me they don't have the records anymore. I gave up. I didn't have the energy to try to get another referral to see another military doctor, especially believing that this was standard. The nurse told me today that he was very wrong for this, and that all they need is 8 mm of undamaged tube to reconnect it. When I mentioned this all to my dad, he said something I didn't know: he had seen pictures of it all post-op, and the surgeon left as much as possible intact for this very reason. He said there was far more than enough for them to reconnect it.
So, I am going to follow the nurse's advice and try to get a referral to a non-military OB-GYN and proceed to get the exploratory surgery and, with any luck, a full reversal of my ligation done. There is hope that the last shred of physical evidence of my mother's abuse might be healed, finally. I might be able to have a child without in vitro fertilization or other fertility treatments... I might be able to have my own baby, without a petri dish being involved in the process....
It really feels like a miracle.
Mr Nice Guy is thrilled at this prospect, and actually quite angry at the doctor who blew me off. We've talked about children- him more than you might assume- and it's very exciting to both of us to have this chance. I might have a real family, the way most people do... It might not be impossible...