What Happened To You?

I'll tell you what happened to you. YOU FUCKED UP! You had a wife who loved you more than she's loved any other man in the history of her life and she felt like something wasn't quite right. She told you about this. She even explained some of it away, but that didn't change anything. So the more life went on the same path the worse she felt, the worse she felt, the worse she treated herself and thus perpetuating the cycle. She cried and begged you for your help. She desperately tried to get you to listen to her. One day she sought therapy, it felt like her last resort because nothing else she said or did got your attention or drove you into action. So she went, thinking if she could feel better then her life would magically change, even though the changes did not need to come from her at all because she had bent over backward adjusting and making changes to suit you. From that therapy it was suggested that you come along. So you did, for a couple of sessions. The therapist asked questions and made suggestions, all the while your wife sat there and said, Yes I've tried that, I've done that, and you sat there and nodded and smiled because yes, your wife had actually done all the things and more. So you decided that you needed one-on-one counselling of your own. Your wife happily supported this even though it meant the counselling for the relationship, the marriage, was put the weyside. You went for a few sessions then stopped. Life got in the way and it became too difficult for you to find the time to keep going. Because some therapy was had, things were OK for a time, but life has a way of spiraling and within that spiral you always end up in a similar place to where you were before, to see what lessons were learned and if you had integrated those things to make lasting change. You never did. You always went back to how you always were, even though it was clear that if you wanted to be in a lasting relationship there had to be some give, some change, something. Your wife went along with every decision you made, when to move because of your issues, where to move so it was easier for you or because it was the cheapest place to buy a house. The merry-go-round kept going though and your wife would hold the space and keep everything as even as she could. Until she couldn't. Then she would explode because there needed to be some kind of release, some relief from the pressure that was constantly building up inside her. So she begged you to seek therapy again which you did after she almost left you. Things kept going. There were very small changes and lots of excuses about how much time it would take to change. The one thing that was apparent through it all though is that you were working on YOU and it was all about YOU, it was never about the marriage, the relationship, or her. Your wife spent two nights in a row sitting in the lounge room crying after she was standing in the bathroom looking in the bath tub and thinking about getting in it and turning on the shower and slitting her throat. She cried because she couldn't bring herself to do it even though she so desperately wanted to just end it all. End the constant pain. Even her kids asleep in their rooms couldn't take away the urge. So she put herself on anti-depressants even though she never wanted to have to do that. She sought help. She went to counselling with your counselor which felt really unethical. Even did marriage counselling with the same woman who flat out told your wife to leave you. Your wife even said she was done in a joint session with you, then on the way home you tried to hold her hand as if she hadn't just said she was done. Your inability to understand left your wife feeling even more trapped than before. Your wife supported moving even further away from the ocean, her only solace, where she would go sometimes through the day to just sit. Your wife supported you furthering your education, getting her and the kids out of the house so you could concentrate. Driving up a steep mountain at night in a scary storm to get away for the weekend for you. She supported your desire to own a home and get the ducted air you wanted. She supported anything you ever wanted to do without question or passive aggression or under-handed remarks. She never once tried to make you feel bad for being the way you are. She went out of her way to learn more about how you are so she could figure out how to make the marriage work because yet again you stopped going to counseling even though nothing had changed and nothing was better. You got all the things you wanted. Except the perfect wife which you never failed to remind her that she wasn't. She didn't deserve anything because she didn't have a 9-5 job that earned a regular and decent amount of money to contribute to the finances of the household. The fact that she was saving the household money by caring for the children and the property instead of paying someone else to do it didn't matter. So what happened to you? You got exactly what you wanted. Until she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to begin an open dialogue within the family of how they were feeling and what was going on, to do that she wanted to ask everyone a bunch of questions so they could all get to know each other better. But you pushed her, and you pushed her to share what her 'issues' were instead of letting her just ask the questions that she wanted to ask in attempt to help them all bond as a whole family unit. So it burst out of her. What she kept buried. What she squashed with food and art. What she thought she had a lid on, under lock and key. She admitted that she wanted a divorce. She said it. Out loud. In front of the kids. Out loud. To you. Out loud. As soon as she said it she knew there was no turning back. She knew she wasn't going to turn back from it this time because when she said it there was this wave of relief that washed over her. A release of the pressure. She felt like she could breathe properly. She felt free. Free to be whoever the hell she wanted to be in whatever way she wanted to be. She felt a strong resolve. An adamant determination. Part of her also knew, that if she didn't keep pushing forward this time, there would never be an escape and she would end up killing herself in some way, some day. She had been saying for years that she was done, she warned you so many times that she couldn't do it anymore, she gave you countless opportunities to take action and to help her back from the brink and any opportunity you took you soon let slip by and just went back to how you were. She left. Through the fear and the pain she left. She took her kids and began to build again. She took as little as possible, leaving you with everything. She had friends help with 2nd hand fridges and lounges and pots and pans. She struggled hard. She questioned her decision constantly. She wished things could have been different. She gave you one last chance to make things right. To prove to her that you loved her the way she deserved to be loved. She asked for marriage counselling again, you chose to only go to counselling for yourself... again. You had a year to woo her, to fight for her, to show her that you wanted her back and you failed. You stepped up for your children and she admired that, but there was no stepping up for her. There were excuses as always. There were ideas that made your wife do the work by visiting you. There was nothing from you. Nothing that put you out of your way. Nothing. Finally after about 10 months you managed to secure a marriage counselor, but by then it was too little too late. It was the 3rd round of your wife sitting there saying she'd done this that and the other, and you agreeing and the counselor not knowing how to help because your wife was doing the work and you weren't. What happened to you? You happened to you. The consequences of you, happened to you. Your wife left physically, but the end of the marriage, the failing of the relationship, that is all on you. Not her. She fought long and hard. She fought until she was but a shell of herself. Even now, as she types this she cries because you, just like her parents, have shown her yet again that there is something inherently wrong with her, that you didn't want her enough to fight for her. Painfully yours, The Unworthy Art Therapist.

The Tornado of Destruction

I just do not know what is wrong with me. There must be something wrong.. right? How am I ever meant to trust people when I don't even trust myself. How am I ever meant to believe I'm lovable when my own parents can so easily disassociate themselves from my life? The people who never really wanted me anyway. How am I meant to love myself, when I have never been shown what it is to be loved? I wish I knew what it is about me that is so not worth fighting for. What is it about me that people find so easy to discard and not pursue? Am I really such a bad person? And if I am, is that because I've never had anyone fight for me, no one to show me how to be loved, how to love, how to not be a bad person? What have I done so wrong? Was I a really fucking bad person in a past life? Am I simply paying for my past crimes now? So here's me, cruising along in life, going OK. I was getting to hang out with my dad and the family fairly regularly. Not as regularly as I'd like, but better than ever before in my life since being a kid. I had my Mum, and things were cruising pretty smoothly with her which was in and of itself quite the miracle and I was really enjoying it. I was married, had 3 kids, got along with the father of my first child really well. Then somewhere along the line things began to fall apart. I can't even pinpoint when it happened or how. I actually ponder if it was caving in and agreeing to go on anti-depressants. I let the dr convince me, and I let me deep boned fatigue convince me, oh and the two nights in a row I was up at 1am convincing myself NOT to kill myself, that my kids really did need me even though for those two very dark nights not even the thought of hem stopped me from wanting to kill myself. I was so tired. So tired all the time. It isn't easy functioning when you are tired. No matter what the cause of you being tired is, it is really difficult to function. So I went on anti-depressants and discovered I had sleep apnea. In the meantime I lost my license, but that was trumped by me getting a regular gig that earned me a regular income. Soon after that, I got a mortgage. My own home! No more inspections and paying off someone else's mortgage. No more moving! So what if I still wasn't happy despite the therapy and the medication. Then my god-mother gets cancer and decides she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, she doesn't have time for me anymore, because I refuse to leave my husband and she thinks I'm not standing up for myself and I'm just playing the victim. Whatever, I wasn't that close to her anyway. She only became my god-mother cause she felt sorry for me and was my sisters god-mother anyway. It was a pity god-mothering. That seemed to start this domino affect. This cascade of what-the-fuckery. Before too long I somehow ended up cutting my mother out of my life. She started up her usual narcissistic borderline personality disorder bullshit that I had been in a dance with since I ran away to live with her when I was 13. I don't even rightly recall how it came to be anymore, but I do know that she gave me the option and I took it. She never fought to stay in my life, she just played the blame game, projected her shit on to me, blamed me, named me the monsterous daughter. Instead of trying to work shit out, she pushed me further away and I took my opening and ran with it. For the most part life is a lot easier without her in it. For the most part. There are still times I really wish I had a mummy. When I'm sick. Or when my marriage is falling apart and no matter how much you wish it was salvageable you know deep down it's not because he is just like all the others in your life who don't bother to fight for you. I'm sure he thinks he fought for me, and in his experience he probably did... but that wasn't my experience. Within the very same week shit hit the fan with my father. I guess I'd had enough of always being the one making the plans for family bbq's and b'day dinners. I had had enough of us always having to be the ones to go and visit them while none of them ever bothered to come and visit us, and thinking that getting to spend time with his grandkids while I was at work would be a welcomed experience, only to find out it was a hassle. That just like me, my kids were unwanted by him. After a very abusive phone call that pretty much ended with him telling me to fuck off and stay the hell out of his life, I have never heard from him again. It's been about 3 years by now since I last spoke to him, and at least 4 years since I last saw him maybe. I managed to stay in contact with the oldest of the brothers, and the 2nd oldest of the brothers for some time, but eventually I got rid of the oldest of the brothers because it was his wife I was in contact with not him, and no matter how much I asked for our kids to hang out her response was always, oh there's plenty of time for that. The 2nd oldest of the brothers eventually blocked me on facebook so there was no more messaging him. Apparently I'm not good enough for anyone, and no one else is good enough for me. Projection much, Unworthy Art Therapist? So there I was, 2 major players and a minor in my life, all eradicated like a tornado swept through my life and left that part of it completely destroyed and in utter ruin. I was left wondering who was next. It didn't feel like it was finished. I wondered about my sister, the best friend I would ever have in my life. My husband, the one I had been skating on thin ice with for years. The woman who called herself my friend I think only because we had known each other for 30 years. I hoped for none of them. But my intuition was right, the tornado of destruction wasn't done with me and my connections yet. Time is a blur as I sit here in the future. I have no idea how long it took, but sure enough the marriage ended. A seemingly innocuous night I had designed as a way to spend some quality family time together, get to know each other a bit more, give the kids some space to air any grievances they had. Then without so much as an inkling of pre-thought I called DIVORCE! It was no pre-planned in any way. In fact if you'd asked me just 10 minutes before I sat down with everyone in the lounge room I probably would have said the marriage was going pretty well. Yet something inside me snapped. So hard. Like a rubber band that just couldn't take the strain anymore. I gave way. The kids fled, then I fled to the garage knowing it was my deepest truth and that I just couldn't take it anymore. I had fought long and hard and felt like I hadn't gotten anywhere. I had begged and pleaded for his help for years to no avail. I was done dancing. I was defeated. So began the long hard process of extricating myself. Of finding my feet. Finding my independence. Having faith that I could even do this again... this being alone in the world thing. Yes, I had my kids, but really I was alone. So very alone. Possibly more alone than I had ever been before in my entire life. I had thought I was alone before, but now, now I truly was. Yet still somewhere in the back of my head a little voice asked, who is next? No. I'm done, I said. Yet there was still this niggling. For a minute I thought it was my sister. We didn't speak. We didn't connect. And in all honesty, we still don't. I love her so much and I know she loves me, yet she is not supportive at all. She has nothing for me if I ever bother her with my issues. She has nothing. But our tenuous relationship still remains. As long as we don't talk about me. As long as we don't talk about my marriage or how I'm feeling. As long as she can talk about her entanglement. As long as she can still have a bitch about her son and our mother, all is well. So I try not to talk about me. I don't talk about my marriage at all with her. I pretend that I'm ok. But I'm not. So while her and I are on solid enough, if not shallow, ground, the same can't be said to my friend of 30+ years. I stopped trying to be in her life almost 20 years ago now. I realised the only time we hung out is if I contacted her and arranged something. This was back in the years before facebook. So I stopped. That was all. I just stopped. Then I moved. And moved. And moved. And eventually I became pregnant with my first son. It was during the pregnancy that she rang my mother who I just happened to be living with at the time and we reconnected. With our babies who we always said we would have at the same time. It seemed so kismet, that we would, despite our 2 year hiatus, end up pregnant at the same time with sons. So our relationship began again. However, I have discovered, yet again, that our relationship is still very one-sided. I feel like I did all the given and she did the taking. I discovered face painting and immediately told her about it. She discovered Isagenix which really could have helped me out and the woman who got her on to it is who contacted me about it... not her. I thought about doing Kahuna massage, she said she had already been looking in to that. She never told me about her psychosomatic stuff until she'd already signed up. I discovered lifebook, I told her about it. I find websites for cheap art supplies and I tell her about it. She keeps everything she does to herself... unless of course she needs me to be another warm body. But if it's something that might benefit me like it benefits her, I may as well be listening to crickets. That's not even to mention the two regular occuring jobs that she has now taken over from me without a word about it. Now, I wouldn't have minded at all... if she'd bothered to actually talk to me about it either time. The first time I had to find out in a very roundabout way that it was her, and the 2nd time she actually txt'd me to see if I would do one of the jobs.... When another lady rang me first to let me know at least, that she had been approached. Then when I decide I can't tolerate her affection, she says nothing. She has not approached me to talk to me at all. When I was disinvited to partake in the latest gig she hasn't contacted me about that at all. It feels like we may as well have no history at all, it feels like I am not worth fighting for, just like the rest of them. So, while she is still in my life on facebook and for the sake of our daughters who adore each other, I am done with her. I am done fighting for our relationship. I am done being the one who always fights. So now here I am, I have countless people no longer in my life, but I have no one replacing them. I am being left more and more alone. Sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss with no support. No one to help me get through. The people who ask if I'm ok don't really want to know that I'm not OK. Because when they ask, it's not at a time where I can say no and break down. It's at a time where I have to say, yeah I'm good and pretend that everything is hunky dory. I don't want to kill myself. I can safely say that because I know what it feels like to really want to end it all. I know what it feels like to have a very detailed plan of how I would execute it right down to knowing the exact knife I would have used and I am not like that right now. Not yet. But I am sad. I am so sad. I am heart-wrenchingly sad. I am alone. I am unworthy. I am the unworthy art therapist, forever more.

I didn't realise how brave I am.

The room is long and connects to the open kitchen. In the kitchen that seems too white stands a woman, also in white. It looks like a nurses uniform, perhaps she works in a hospital. She is thin, scrawny even, except for the tiny little pot belly you can barely see. Her hair is very short, brown and curly, as if she sets it in curlers every night before bed. She holds a small cooking pot in one hand and appears to be yelling at the short, fat man standing at the other end of the lounge room. He is balding and grey, his face is red with rage. He seems to be huffing and puffing like a dragon, only he doesn't shoot flames from his mouth, just his insecurities, his fears that his wife in white is having an affair and will leave him for another man.

That won't happen though, not on his watch. Not for as long as he owns his rifle and he has bullets. He stands there, yelling back at the woman, venting his pent up anger and fear, his hatred. He is pointing his loaded rifle at her, threatening to shoot her if she doesn't stop seeing this man. The barrel of the rifle seems to reach toward the woman standing in the kitchen, appearing longer than it is. The woman isn't scared as she stares at the threatening barrel, at least not for herself. She is just angry and vehemently protesting the accusations.

Her eyes flicker to the left, that is where her fear crouches, hidden at the end of the lounge that sits against the wall next to the doorway that leads to the bedrooms. There's a little girl with bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair. She is crouched in a tight ball staring at her Nanny in the kitchen with the pot. She can't see her Poppy from where she crouches, but she can hear him. Hear his accusations and his threats. Knows he is holding a rifle pointed at her Nanny. The girl knows that if her Poppy pulls the trigger the bullet that flies out of the gaping mouth at the end of the barrel will kill her Nanny.

The little girl feels great fear for her Nanny. So afraid that her Nanny will get hurt and go away. If that happens she knows she won't have anywhere to live because no one else wanted her. The sadness creeps up behind her eyes. She is scared of her grandparents, but at least she knows where she is, she knows where she lives. She has Somewhere. Poppy can't shoot her Nanny. Resolve flickers in her eyes when she hears her Poppy threaten to kill her Nanny again. Her Nanny's eyes flicker over to the girl again, not wanting the girl to be hurt. She also notices the flicker of determination in the little girls eyes and calls out for her to stay where she is. The little girl doesn't listen. She knows her Poppy won't shoot her, so she races over to stand in front of her Nanny. Her Nanny quickly holds the pot over the little girls heart. Her little heart is pumping with fear and adrenaline, but she is brave. So brave. She will not let him kill her Nanny.

She knows Poppy is so caught up in his drunken rage, so caught up in his story that he has forgotten the little girl is even there. He falters when he sees his grand daughter. His resolve weakens. The rage seems to deflate out of him and the edge in the air lessens. The little girl is on high alert, she is tense and scared and fiercely protective. Her Nanny is pushing her away. She doesn't want to go. Her Nanny is persistent. She pushes the little girl toward the hallway that leads to the front door. The little girl turns around to protest, she is scared her Poppy will shoot her Nanny if she leaves. Her Nanny is telling her to go downstairs to Unit One where Dell lives and wait there. Her nanny promises she will be down soon and that everything will be OK.

The little girl doesn't want to, but she doesn't want to disobey her Nanny either or her Nanny might not want her anymore. Her Nanny might send her away if she doesn't do as she is told. As she turns to leave the little girl notices a red patch of blood on her Nanny's whiter than white uniform. It reminds the little girl that her Nanny might die and it brings the fear back full force. The girl doesn't want to leave her Nanny but she knows she has to do as she is told. The little girl doesn't look back as she races down the hall with tears streaming down her face. She doesn't notice that her Poppy has put the rifle down as she flies out the front door. She doesn't notice the shame on the old man's face, the remorse. She doesn't see him realise what almost happened. She doesn't see him appear to age another decade in front of her eyes. All she does is carry her fear for her Nanny's life down the stairs with the thought in her head that if she can just get to Dell, her Nanny would be safe. Everything would be OK.

The lady one flight down opens her door as the girl comes wailing down the stairs. She would have heard the argument going on above her. She asks the little girl if she is OK and if she would like to come inside until it is safe. The little girl stops dead in her tracks . She stops her wailing. She stops her tears. She packs all the feelings in to a little box and tells the lady she is fine and doesn't want to go into her unit. The little girl rounds the corner to continue down the next flight of stairs keeping her emotions contained and to herself now. She continues to carry the thought in her head that if she could just make it down to Dell then everything would be alright. Because her Nanny told her so.

She made it to Dell's. Everything did turn out alright in the end. No one died. No one sent the little girl away. She continued to have Somewhere. No one ever mentioned how brave that little girl was. Ever. It wasn't until decades later, looking back, the little girl who had grown in to a disfunctional, unworthy adult, realised just how brave she was that night. Just how brave she was. Just how brave she still is.

Shame

I feel an incredible amount of shame for how I am and how I know better but continue to go down the same path, doing the same things, whinging about nothing changing, dreaming of change, but not actually doing the work to change. I always have an outside force to blame instead of taking responsibility within myself. I always seem to have a reason not to do what I know I need to do in order to carry a healthy body around in this world. Bread Pasta Pastry in the form of meat pies Pastry in the form of danishes, etc biscuits chocolate coke cola and other various fizzy drinks coffee sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar whipped cream shapes cheese and bacon rolls In case you were wondering. That right there is why I fail at doing what I do. Well, not those things, but the fact that I choose to eat those things instead of follow a program I know works. These are the things I eat and drink instead of salads, which I love, bowls of steamed vegetables, which I love, drinking water... which I can take or leave. I'm not here to promote Isagenix, as I believe we all need to find what works for us, and I also believe Isagenix isn't going to be for everyone. But it works for me. I've never been able to stomach those meal replacement shakes in any other brand, but I actually enjoy the Isagenix ones. I really love how I feel when I follow the program. I have more energy, I'm less tired, I'm less depressed. I love the double cleanse days. There's something really nice about not having to eat anything! For right now I just want to get under 100kgs and I know if I could support myself better I could reach that by my birthday at the end of the year. However I don't support myself. I get lazy. This heavy, heavy blanket falls over me leaving me feeling so tired, leaving me feeling like I can barely move, so instead of making the right choices for a better me, I cave and go with easy. I'm so over people going on about how simple it is, to make the decision and follow it through... well it's not. I'm here to say it's not. I have struggled with this for so long feeling guilt and shame that I can't just make the decision and stick with it. That I can't make the choice in the right now. I only seem to be able to make the choice in the future. Only, the future isn't going to help me if I don't find the strength to make the choice in the right now. I have everything I need. I know exactly how to do it. So why don't I? I don't understand. I don't understand the block I have or why it is there or how to get rid of it. All people want to do is lay more blame and more shame which doesn't help at all. How do I find the love for myself? How do I find my Inner Parent and strengthen it? How do I strengthen my Ego, so it stops giving my ID so much control? How do I strengthen my Super Ego's voice so my Ego can find the balance required? It's all well and good to discover that I need to strengthen my Ego, but no one explained how one would go about doing that. What does someone do to help strengthen that? I'm meant to be a therapist to clients who need this and if I can't even do it for myself how the hell am I meant to help them do it for themselves? Instead of having a shake for breakfast I had a cup of coffee with 2 mini blueberry muffins and a handful or two of bbq shapes. Why? Why do I do that to myself when it hurts to walk, it hurts to roll over in bed. It is becoming more and more difficult to move, to even get up out of the loungechair or bed. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why is it so damn difficult for me to follow a routine I know works?!!! I'm so angry and frustrated with myself yet I still do the things I do. I'm so ashamed of myself, yet I still do the things I do. I have no explanation for it. I have no reason not to look after myself. I have no idea how to support myself when I do not know what it is like to be supported. I feel completely and utterly unsupported. So how do I find and get support? How do I gain the strength I need so I can reach my goals? Am I just weak? Am I just a victim? Am I no better than my mother? I know that feeling you are unworthy is a false core belief... but I do. All the time. Feel unworthy. Always, your unworthy art therapist.

You fucking voted for who now?

I think I actually created some kind of delusional realm within my mind where I actually thought Australian's of all types were going to allow change to happen. I clearly REALLY believed it could be done and that enough Australian's out there were with me in wanting to see something different happen in the powers that govern our country. I was so wrong and I don't know why that shocked me so much this time. I don't know why I feel so fucking devastated. I am clearly SO PMS right now cause I actually cried when it hit me that nothing is going to change. That there is nothing I alone can do and that unless a whole fucking heap of other people wake up and become willing to stand up, that we really are going to end up another fucking Nazi history for future generations to look back on and cry shame, shame, how did they let this happen?! My reef is dying and I haven't even had a chance to go and see it yet. Soon my children will be either held down and forced to be injected with all manner of toxin in the name of vaccination OR be taken off me because I will be classed as an unfit parent for not vaccinating them voluntarily OR I'll end up in jail because I'll rip the damn throat out of anyone who tries to inject my children. Soon after that I will be held down and have toxins forced in to my body in the guise of being for the good of society too. All the while, if a negative reaction occurs the powers that be have no liable responsibility. My fellow human beings in dire need of a safer place to live, the need for a home, a warm bed, clean clothes, fresh water and food will continue to be forced into legal concentration camps simply because they are running away from war-torn countries and seeking assylum. Seeking what every human being has the right to... safety. The thought of this one alone is enough to make my eyes water again and my heart ache. Here I am bitching that I'm a morbidly obese person who can't fucking lose weight cause I can't parent myself properly and be strict and I can't keep my house clean and I feel like I have no support from anyone anywhere, while these people are locked up in sub-par conditions instead of being given space in our bountiful country. I hate voting day. I hate it. I hate that another set of puppets are placed in charge and my one dismal vote has done nothing to change that. I hate having to be more aware of all the issues with my country and around the world because it depresses me. It leaves me feeling alone, incapable, defeated, powerless, shamed, depressed.... Here is what I propose: Voting is NO LONGER MANDATORY! Voting becomes the privilege 'they' claim it is. Just because you are over 18 does NOT give you the right to vote. If you want to vote you need to know how voting works. You need to know about the different choices of parties or independents you are voting for. You need to get a license to drive, or a degree to teach, or to be a doctor, these are all life-changing things... well so is voting in my opinion. Voting is SO important and people take it for granted or worse see it as an imposition. Well you know what? If you can't be bothered, your stupid dummy vote with the drawing of a penis, or your #1 vote shouldn't be allowed to go to the people already in power. If you can't be bothered to find out what parties are for and against what, what they stand for, what their policies are, then you shouldn't be allowed to vote. And also, while we are at it, cause no one reads this anyway, in a controversial twist, if you aren't of at least average intelligence, you should not be allowed to vote. People with learning disabilities of a severe nature, people who are what used to be called retarded, should not be allowed to vote. There I said it. I am feeling completely defeated. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not what I do, or how I live, my voice is mute. No one hears me. No one learns. No one opens their eyes. No one wakes up. I am unworthy. Truly I am. But so is everyone else.

Dear Complicated

Dear Complicated who isn't my husband but isn't not my husband. Yet again I find myself living in limbo with you, something I didn't want to have to do anymore. I value honesty, so I can't call you my ex-husband because according to law you still are my husband... and you are still wearing the ring. Worse than the limbo is the push-pull I feel around you. Something has changed, like really changed. Solidly, irrevocably changed. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something different. Perhaps the difference is within me, but I don't think so. You haven't done anything to leave me feeling hurt in a long time. You have become more easy-going than I've ever known you to be. You seem to do more than you ever have. Cleaning the toilet bowl, keeping the place clean, filling the car with petrol, having the lawns mowed, doing laundry, spending real time with the kids... granted I don't have to witness you bullying the kids in to doing most of that, and you wouldn't be willing to spend the money on a lawn mower person if I was around because if I'm at home 'doing nothing' then I should be doing the lawns, but knowing you clean the toilet bowl and spend proper time with the kids.... things have changed. I have a migraine today. I have a migraine yet I need to hang out the clean clothes, I need to unpack the dishwasher and repack it, I have to go to work soon. It is nice to fantasize that if I still lived with you I could just relax in bed or a hot shower until I left for work and not feel guilty for not doing all this stuff. Not only that, but perhaps you would do it for me. I can't help but scoff at the thought. This is good, it reminds me why I can never go back. I need the reminders you see because I still love you and the longer I have to go without touching you, hugging you, kissing you, the more I want to go back. But I can't. I can ever go back. While you are now a better father and a better future partner for someone else, I don't think you will ever be good for me, even if you wanted to be. I believe deeply within myself that you have never truly loved me. I believe deeply within myself that you much prefer your new life. You are happier without me and my son in it. You are better without me. You are happier without me. I am so angry with you. You were meant to love and adore and worship me. Not criticise and leave me feeling like I'm not good enough cause I don't want to have a muggle job, or I don't keep things as clean as you want, or I can easily ignore the children bickering, or because I love art. You were meant to praise my art and tell me how amazing I am and remind me over and over how much you love and adored me. You were meant to leave me with no doubt that you thought I was the best thing in your world. No one else wanted you, I did. You should have cherished that. Instead I ended up with someone who took the only person who wanted them because that's the best he could get. Pity I wasn't the best though. I feel like a very last choice. I once thought I was a great mother, but soon learned I wasn't thanks to you. I once thought I was intelligent and funny, but soon learned I wasn't thanks to you. I used to think I had something to contribute to the world, to life, but soon learned I didn't thanks to you. I once thought I was powerful, but soon realised that I gave you all my power. Now it's time for me to go to work with a pounding brain and no support. Not much different than when I did live with you. Just, no guilt when I get home and don't do all the things that are left for me to do cause no one else does them. No guilt is a massive relief. It has taken me way too long to type this because of my migraine and it's time to go to work so I will just post this. Not that you will ever read it, and if you do, you'll never acknowledge it. You will just pretend you haven't read it so you can continue to leave me hanging around in limbo. Fuck my life. Forever Unworthy.

Love hurts

Love is entangling. It is a mess. It leaves me feeling sick. The rejection that comes with it. It is completely ridiculous that I should feel any kind of rejection. I don't want to feel that way. It isn't rejection. Yet the hole around my throat chakra and the lump in my stomach tells me otherwise. I'm the one who fucking left. I'm the unworthy one. So why do I have to keep feeling the pain, over and over and over again. I'm so over crying about this. If I don't eat I cry. If I cry, I want to eat instead. I ache, so deeply. Why do I have to be the one to want me. I just want someone else to want me... but that isn't true. I know my 1DS's father wants me. But that isn't what I want at all. What I want is this deep ache to go away and not be part of me anymore. I want this feeling of emptiness to fuck off. I want to not feel rejected or criticised at every turn. I want to stop feeling so sad. There is this never ending hollow echo inside me and the only way I ever shut it up is with food. IF I don't shut it up with food I get no break from it at all. That is why I am feeling so fragile and broken today. This feeling is almost like the feeling you get before you gag. That is what I'm feeling in my chest. This deep need to gag. Like I need to puke out the darkness inside me, the emptiness. The vast wasteland that is the garden of my soul. I refuse to buy coke though. I went to the shops just then. I did not buy coke cola. I did not buy an iced coffee. I did not buy chocolate, or chips, or cookies, though I stopped briefly in front of the caramel ones, I did not pick up the packet. I did buy fruit loaf though and I'm probably going to eat 8 slices and even then I will likely need to force myself to stop. Just because I was rejected without it being a rejection. Definitely not intended that way anyway. I invited my husband to come to the movies with us. The 1DS father had previously piped up that he wanted to come see finding dory with us, so when I looked it up this morning I sms'd him and he of course got straight back saying he was in. Then I sms'd the soon to be ex husband to ask if he wanted to come. His response was that he didn't want to see it, so no he wasn't going to come. So of course my mind spins out into it's own little world of self-destruction and ranting about how it wasn't about seeing the movie. It was about spending time with the kids (read, with me). It was about seeing the kids (read, me). It was about being part of the family and doing something together. The 1DS father shows up for me every single time because he will go above and beyond to spend any amount of time with me. The YOs father doesn't. Why can't he love me as much as the other one did and still does? Why can't he be as devoted to me as the other one was and still is? Or why can't I just love the other one the way I love YOs father? Why? He would look after me well, he would take care of me, he would allow me the room to be how I am or who I want to be without complaint or criticism, hell he would encourage me every step of the way. He would praise each success. But no, the one I love with the deepest of aches complains, criticises, never praises. There's no sway there. There's no ease. Just pain. Piles and piles of pain. Because love hurts. I was born in to this world and show how badly love hurts and I continue to exist in this world to be shown that love hurts. So how could I ever, ever believe otherwise? I wish I could numb my heart. I wish I could numb my feelings. I wish that I was numb. As always, I am not worthy. This is Your Unworthy Art Therapist signing out.

Self-Saboteur

I am a self-saboteur. I know it. I hate it. But I rarely change it and when I do... well, it never seems to last for long. Today I read something that opened me up to yet another layer within myself. I am self-abandoning. I don't think you can be a self-saboteur if you aren't self-abandoning. What do I mean by that? I mean, no one else has or will abandon me but myself. Not since becoming an adult anyway. It's my biggest crime when I am in a relationship. I make it all about the other person and I completely and utterly abandon myself. I place all the weight on my partner which is completely and utterly unfair on them. I stop putting time in to my own spiritual practice. I stop delving in to the deep areas of my self and my spirit and all the other amazingly deep stuff I enjoy. I just stop. For instance I'm still unwinding myself from a decade long relationship where I no longer tracked the moon and the stars. I no longer celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. I no longer sought space to meditate or practice reiki on myself, I barely even read my cards. I stopped lighting candles and incense and just being present with myself. Worst of all... I blamed my partner. *facepalm* He never stopped me. Why would he? He didn't want me to be miserable. He never asked me not to believe in what I believed in, he never told me to stop my practice. He may have criticised certain things or aspects, he may have scoffed at some of my beliefs, he may have complained heavily about the smell of my candles and incense, but at the end of the day, none of that matters because that is him and I am me. I allowed him far too much power, which isn't his fault. It is mine. If I'd been a stronger person I would have put a boundary up that didn't allow his opinions and discomfort through and I could have continued learning and deep diving. I also abandoned my self-esteem. I stopped loving myself and praising myself. I stopped feeling good about things I did unless I got outward validation. I'm still a prisoner to this one. I'm still learning how to truly love who I am and how to stop relying on the outside world to tell me I'm worthy, lovable, awesome, beautiful. This could be the most difficult one of all. The more I dive in to healing the wounds I've inflicted upon myself, the more I realise how much I hate on myself. I find this really interesting because I don't hate who I am. I actually think I'm fucking awesome. I have an amazingly creative spirit. I love to produce beautiful things. I love to love. I love to forgive. I love to accept everyone the way they are. I love people. All people. I see the world from every angle. I see the space for everything in this world, the good, the bad, the ugly. I'm always ready to be emotionally available to people. I'm always happy to listen to people vent their current problems and help them see it from all the different angles. I love when I feel passionately about something I am like a fricking boulder that can't be swayed, yet at the same time I remain moveable and not stuck in the earth, so my position can alter if needed. Yet deep down I hate on me. I wish I knew where it came from. I wish I knew how to eradicate it. That little heartless, foul, critical bitch inside me. I try to send it love, but most of the time her voice is so insidious I don't even know she's been whispering to me until after I've bought the food, or said the horrible thing. I don't blame my partner at all for the end of our relationship. Yes, he took way too long to start stepping in the right direction. He decided to get the help he needed and the help we needed when it was beyond salvage. Yet he has taken the steps, he was willing to step up. That's more than a lot of people do. I'll be forever grateful for that. The beauty is, he'll be a better father for it to my gorgeous kids and if he ever finds someone else to enter in to a relationship with, he will be a better partner for them. I hope he never does. *snort* I can't handle living with him ever again, but it doesn't mean I want him to be with anyone else. I still love him after all. Deeply. So deep I have days, sometimes weeks of feeling like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and it is just hanging there on the outside of me, drip, drip, dripping blood all down my front leaving me sticky. So sticky that the smallest amount of dirt sends me in to a tail spin. Yet I know it's for the best, that I walk away and stay away. I know this, because I haven't had a single thought of wishing I was dead since I declared it. Not one thought. I remember a time where I used to think about dying on a daily basis. To the point where I almost committed to it. Two nights in a row I sat on the lounge and seriously considered doing it to the point I knew exactly how I would do it. That was before, this is now. Now I'm pretty damn sure he got his official ASD diagnosis and is getting more focused help because he's changed. Something in him has shifted. He is softer, gentler, kinder. Not words I would have used to describe him before. Before he had very hard edges, very defined harsh edges. He loved, but he wasn't kind. But this isn't about him, I digress. This is about me and my lack of self-love, self-caring, self-nurturing, self-supporting. This is about me and my shame. My shame over how morbidly obese I am, because I am unworthy. I am not worth fighting for, everyone has proven that to me over and over and over and over again. Every fucking time. My (ex)partner probably thinks he fought for me, but he didn't. He only ever had excuses. The only person who ever fought for me and held on tight no matter how much I pushed and shoved, is my sister. Which is probably why she is my most beloved person in the world. She cherished me from the start, before I even wanted her affections. I damn near hated her but she loved me anyway. She adored me. She thought I was the best thing ever. So now, now she is the best thing ever. She never gave up on me. I guess my 1DS's dad didn't either, which is probably why we are such good friends still after all these years. He still loves me to this day and I have no doubt that if I showed any kind of interest in reconciling with him, he'd be in feet first. Sadly for him... and for me I guess... I just have no interest in being in a relationship with the man. I love him, but I love him like a brother and nothing more. Which is good in a way, at least I have one brother. So this whole self-abandonment thing has gotten stuck in my head, which is a good thing. It's a good thing because today I didn't buy another coke even though there were about 5 or so conversations in my head where the ittybittybitch tried to convince me I needed some. Even when 1DS went to 711 I had a full-on internal argument with ittybittybitch about it. It only took a couple seconds but if you saw me, and I'm pretty sure 1DS noticed, he's perceptive like that, I was blank to the outside world for a second or two. Yet I prevailed. I didn't get him to go get me anything. I feel accomplished by that. I feel like maybe I'm getting back on the damn wagon that helped me lose 10kgs at the start of the year, before I finally quit my decade long relationship that send me in a massive downward spiral where I put all the fucking weight back on again. Instead of berating myself about only having 1 shake today, I congratulated myself for at least having 1 shake today. Today I have had about 3 cups of coffee, with whipped cream - sad but true. I've had two bowls of cereal, and a massive bowl of my sausage casserole and rice. Probably enough to feed about 3 people who aren't morbidly obese like me. But that is ok. Do you know why? Because today I didn't drink any coke cola. I didn't drink any iced coffee. I didn't have any biscuits. I didn't have any chips. I haven't had any chocolate other than the hot chocolate variety I put in my cuppa. I've had barely any water, I had just 1 shake, I haven't had any magnesium or iron, etc, but today is still a good day. Today is still a day to celebrate, because of what I didn't have. And because I DID have that 1 shake, which is better than none. It's time for me to get back on track to loving myself again. To stop blaming myself for my failed relationship. To stop berating myself for not being good enough, strong enough, wise enough, aware enough.... enough. It's time to acknowledge my unworthiness and be ok with it. I am the Unworthy Art Therapist and I own that today. I own that in a way where I can be OK with that, where that title doesn't have any negative connotations. It just is what it is and I am what I am. Today is a good day, despite the tears. Today is a good day regardless of all the things I didn't do. Today is a good day to be me. I am alive today. I earned money today. I got some small things done today. So no matter how unworthy I am, there's that. Peace out nigger. Much of enough from the Unworthy Art Therapist.

I am Unworthy

I realised I needed a blog where I could be authentic. Where I don't have to put on a public mask. I can just be all that I am and try not to give a fuck. Though in all honesty, if I didn't give a fuck I wouldn't be being authentic. Cause I do. I do give a fuck. I give a fuck about what people think of me. I give a fuck about how people judge me. I give a fuck. Yet this, this is going to be about all the real things that are happening. No holds barred, just a straight forward this is how I am feeling, what I am thinking, how I am kind of blog post. Probably the most real thing about me is that I feel unworthy. All the time. Even when I'm being praised and I have people buying things I've made or reacting to my face painting, I feel unworthy. I'm not even sure if I've ever fully admitted that even to myself until right now, but I know it's true. I feel unworthy. Always. It's not something that runs through my conscious all that often, but it is a pervasive belief encompassing my subconscious. I don't like it, I don't want it, but it is there. I don't know how to fix it, or get rid of it, or just accept it. I don't know how to live with it in a way that allows me to reach my goals. It's always there and it hinders me at every turn. I'm not here to get advice. I know all the advice. I've heard it all. From the positive thinking to the being in the moment to the get the fuck over it to the pills will help to the eat better to the everything. However, none of it helps. Not a single smidgeon of it helps. Because no matter what I know consciously, it doesn't help on a subconscious level and I do not know how to access that and alter the synapses in my brain. Or perhaps I'm just a professional self-saboteur and victim who continues to perpetuate the problems because it's safe here and I know here and I do not know who I would be or how I would be without my unworthiness. Who the fuck knows and who the fuck cares? Do you ever just think to yourself that it's all bullshit? Does it ever occur to you that shit is what shit is and that's all shit is? Sometimes I get tired of being better. I get tired of doing better. I get tired of always failing to do those things. Sometimes I just want to lay down and go to sleep and never get up again. I am weary. So weary. Sometimes it feels like no matter which way I turn, no matter what path I take, no matter how often I put one foot in front of another THIS NEVER PASSES! Fuck the adage, 'this too shall pass' because this has not passed. This has not passed because this is my life. Since I can remember. I've come in to this life with this crap and it is heavy. So heavy that I have become heavy and weighed down by it. How the hell do I shift it? So I'm 40. I've done a lot of stuff in and with my life, and I also haven't. You know what else I get sick of, being able to see all the things. Being able to see that I have done a shit load of things in my life and I have come a very long way, yet also being able to see that I haven't really done anything and I haven't really gotten anywhere. It's all a big illusion. It's all a big waste of time... but I digress. What I'm trying to get to here, other than completing a first blog post for The Unworthy Art Therapist, is that I'm 40 and I'm doing a Uni course in Transpersonal Art Therapy. Hence the title of my blog. So what does that mean for this blog? It means I'm going to use this space to explore the lump of lard that is my life using what I'm learning in TAT (Transpersonal Art Therapy). It means I'm also going to use this space to vent the fuck out of shit when I need to. I hope people will read it, but I've learned in my 40 years that people don't see me. They don't hear me. The don't even notice my existance most of the time. So while I hope people will read my blog and perhaps get something out of it, I doubt it will ever happen. So what came first, the chicken or the egg? What came first? Me creating that no one will ever read this, or do I just know no one will and therefore have seen the future creation. And again I digress... get used to it. I do that a lot. What promped me starting this is the fact that I am ... well I'm all sorts of fucked up as you will learn if you travel this rocky terrain with me but today's particular fucked up is that I am having another moment in my life where the pain of my impending divorce is upon me. Yet again. I got through fits and starts of feeling the pain, being ok with the pain, forgetting about the pain, wishing it wasn't there, being angry, etc, etc. Well today I have the feels. It was a movie that triggered the feels, but it doesn't matter what triggered it, it matters what I do with it... right? Right?!! Being that I'm 1/3 of the way through my TAT course I decided instead of reaching for food to suppress this shit, like I normally do, I would reach for the art supplies. So I did. I grabbed myself some oil pastels, because this feeling of sadness and pain and feeling stuck is very evident in the stickiness of oil pastels. There is something very sticky and slick and thick and stuck and resistant about oils. All the things I felt as I was experiencing the emotions. So I began. I got out some red and I began laying it on thick on the page, bawling my eyes out. I kept pushing it up the page up the page up the page and pushing down really hard and it really felt like how I was feeling. There was something really forceful about it. Then I added some black to the edges of the red. The black was heavy and made the lines thick, even colouring in whole sections of paper at times. After than I laid down some dark blue and mixed it with the black along the edges and when that was done the rest was done in a light blue. By the time I had gotten to the end the sobbing had stopped, the tears had dried and I felt calmer. The pain was still there, the depression was still dancing around my heart, but I felt calm once again. Or was it numb? Calm, numb, numb calm... they can feel so similar sometimes. No, it was a calm. But it was a sad calm. I feel so weighted like I couldn't smile even if I wanted to. That if I was told to smile the corners of my mouth would turn upward but it would never reach my eyes because smiling is counteractive to the feels I have right now. Uncannily right as I was finishing up I got an email from TH (The Husband) whom I've now been separated from for 16 months and this is where the feels stem from. I feel I need to stop here a moment and explain that I wasn't the one who was left. I did the leaving. I did the declaring of it being over. I packed my stuff, my kids stuff and moved out. I walked away from 10 years of marriage. I was the one who said enough. I was the one who couldn't take any more. I was the one who walked away. He's just the one who kept me away the numerous times I may have gone back. I'm also the one who, after a year of being separated, said I couldn't do this anymore and said I'm done for realz. I'm the one. Yet here I am in copious amounts of pain on a regular basis because I love him and I miss him and I miss parts of what we had, what we were and I don't think anyone could possibly understand that. Because I am a paradox. I see paradox, I live paradox. Just like before when I said that I have done so much with my life yet I've also done nothing. I love TH but I can never be with him again. Sad, but true. As I was saying, I was just finishing up my heart-wrenching artwork of pain and an email come through from TH. The man has an uncanny ability to contact me at some of the worst possible times when I'm going through so much stuff around him and us. Poor man probably cops way more emotion from me than he would otherwise at those times. Not today though. Today was... different. Somehow. I don't know, perhaps it was cause of the oil pastels and the artwork. Perhaps it was just because he'd gotten him self banned from Facebook for a whole week and that was pretty amusing. Perhaps it's because he still hasn't gotten his wedding ring cut off. Still, it was interesting to note that he chose right then to email me. So now I'm sitting here typing up a blog in my new blog where I want to come and record myself. I was sitting there thinking, I just want to be seen. I want my pain to be seen. But not by those who know me. Not by those who have witnessed my life on facebook so far. I want to be seen but I don't want to be fixed. I don't want solutions or pity or judgements. I just want to be witnessed. I just want somewhere I can pour out stuff and I can feel like someone somewhere might be reading it and seeing me and hearing me. I just want to exist. With my pain. I want my pain to exist. I want my pain witnessed. This is my pain:

In TAT we express our feels by putting colours and shapes on paper. We then try to separate ourselves from it. We do what is known as 'privileging the unconscious'. The first step to doing that is to view the image from a different perspective. We move it away, we turn it around and see it from other angles. We see if we can somehow change the story. This is why I've shown you the image in all 4 rotations. It's not so easy to TAT yourself and just like the oil is stuck to the page, I am stuck with this story. I acknowledge I need to take it in to a counselor and gain some professional guidance with it, but for now, this is where I'm at. So here I am. Sharing my pain with you. Hoping someone will see it. Will witness it. Will acknowledge it's existence. Will acknowledge MY existence. Will acknowledge MY pain. I will probably still go and get sausage rolls and coke cola from the 711 soon and stuff my face with food. I will probably get some chips too, maybe some chocolate of some kind and really stuff my face. This is how I eat. This is how I self-soothe. This is why I am morbidly obese. This is why I am always tired and sad and unworthy. I am unworthy of this amazing life and my awesome abilities. Someone else could do such a better job than me if only they had my skills and my able body. Yet here I plod along in life, knowing what I need to do and not doing it anyway. Here I am wishing I could be different but not actually changing anything to make a difference. I am Unworthy.