Waiting list

Well, another day....
24 hour promise...
I am seeing my family doctor today for a referral to see a  pscychologist. But as usual, there's a waiting list.
What do I do in the meantime?
I'm scared.
I'm scared of hurting myself.
I talk to God.
I scream at my mom for hurting me so badly, then I tell her that I forgive her. You see, I made peace with her before she died. I took care of her. She was an old lady and I did what I had to do to make her comfortable and loved. I think she needed me in the end when she dying. She only wanted me.
I am selfish when I ask now "where were you Mom when I was a little girl, and I needed you? I needed you to make the abuse stop. I needed you to show me love.
I can't remember any happy childhood memories.
It's like before all of the bad memories were blocked out. Now, all of the good ones are. IF there were good ones.
I am consumed with bad memories. I hurt for that little girl who didn't have a childhood. It's all I think of. Even when I am busy.
People tell me to stay busy.
When I am cleaning, I feel like I am being chased. I have to move fast and at the same time do a good job.
In my mind I hear, bend down and sweep, move things out, you won't break your back.
You are a lazy *%#€*. Do it right!!! If I didn't do it right, I would have to do it over. Usually with other stuff that she threw on the floor.
If she wasn't home and I cleaned, my older brother would tell her that HE cleaned. And I didn't listen to him. I would be cleaning and cleaning and then whatever was still left to do, he would tell her that I wouldn't even help him. So she would yell at me, call me names and make me do it.
ie. if I tidied up, made beds, swept, mopped, waxed floors, (we had old tiles),,, but if I didn't get to the dishes yet... I would get into trouble.
It was HIS mess. Especially if he skipped school. I would have to start cleaning as soon as I walked in the door. (Perhaps after I "satisfied" him first).
I was just a little girl. I couldn't clean as well or as quick as I can now....

I just want to hug that broken little girl and tell her that she is loved.
I just want to punch that boy in the face. (And all the others one who had a go at me too).

I want to sit my mom down and tell her all that happened to me. Yell and scream and ask why didn't she love me. Why didn't she protect me. Why didn't she believe me. Why? Why? Why?

I'm not a lazy whore.
I'm not just good for spreading my legs for boys.
I'm not ugly and hairy.
I cry because I hurt, not because I'm crabby.

I was taught never to talk back. To respect your parent.
I feel such guilt just writing this.

I'm scared if I commit suicide, I will go where he is. He committed suicide when he was 51.
I'm scared to end up where he is and he will continue to torment me. Forever.
I ask God to keep me from doing anything.
But I get into a dark hole, where I just "react". I don't know how to stop it.
Meds only help at night. Every night I cry before I go to sleep. I try to keep it together for most of the day. I pretend when I'm around other people. The pretending is very stressful.

My thoughts bounce all over the place. All day long....
My therapist said because the trauma happened for so many years, none of it was processed. So my brain doesn't know what to do with all these memories.
I am very organized in real life. But I don't know how to organize my memories. Does that make me a failure?