tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66483673161297765222024-03-13T04:23:14.900-07:00My Year Without SexThe Question: What happens if you choose not to pursue sex, sexual activity or romantic relationships for a full year?Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-81058139117131965002020-07-05T15:56:00.005-07:002021-04-14T12:20:06.793-07:00A Complicated Grief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On Sunday, my mother died. I have spent a while staring at that sentence. My mother is dead. It is hard to say and even harder to process. I want to say that I am devastated, gutted, and shaken, but those are the things that people say when they are devastated to lose a loved one, gutted that they will never see that person again, and their world is shaken that person is no longer in it. That is not how I feel. I am devastated by the tsunami of emotions that have encompassed me, gutted by the pain that I have kept contained behind the breakers, and shaken because the amount of emotion is too overwhelming to handle. In short, it’s complicated.</span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-e5a1c2a3-7fff-3bb3-a878-4d0a5ec5f7fa" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Complicated is the overly simplistic word that I have at my disposable to describe my relationship with my mother. The last time I saw or spoke to her was December 9, 2018. Our relationship was strained since 2010, with very minimal contact. I still have a hard time saying she was abusive to her children, but it is true. My struggle comes from the fact that she didn’t hit or moleste us, and so often in our society, that is what we define as abuse. She did other things though. She was mentally ill and would have “rages.” In these rages, she would beat herself black and blue, lock herself in the washroom with knives saying that she would kill herself, smash anything that could break including all the ceramic figurines that our grandfather had made us, grab a garbage bag and throw away our clothes and toys by the armful, and yell and scream and rant for hours. That is a different form of abuse. It’s harder to spot, but abuse all the same.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A friend from my group therapy recently offered to talk because he lost his step-father years ago and knew that the death of your abuser, especially when they are a parent, is different from the loss of a non-abusive parent. There are many unexpected emotions that come up that can be hard to explain and even harder for loved ones to understand. In short, it’s complicated.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, reading this far, you may be thinking, “wow, you must be relieved that your abuser is dead.” And in that respect, you are right… to a point. Relief is one of the emotions I feel, but at the same time, my mommy is also dead. She was the only one I had and now she is gone. She was still my mommy and I love her. She consistently hurt me, so I couldn’t have her as part of my life, but that didn’t change the fact that I loved her. I loved her and now she is dead. See, it’s complicated.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mother was not a horrible monster who mistreated her children all the time. She was sometimes, but that is not all of who she was. No one is all good or all evil. People are complex and so are the relationships that intertwine them.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a lifetime of feeling like I was drowning, I had finally done the work to process my childhood traumas and had built a life raft. Actually, no, I had built a ship and I had learned how to sail the stormy seas of life, enjoying the calm waters when they came and navigating the rough seas with ease. When I was informed of my mother’s death, it was like lightning hit my ship and I watched it burn and sink while I scrambled to keep afloat among the debris.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All the emotions hit me at once like a tidal wave. My body went numb and I wanted to rip my insides out through my chest because it was all just too much. Since then, wave after wave comes crashing over my head while I try to stay above the tide of each new emotion.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I feel...</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief because I lost my mom.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness because she died alone in a nursing home she hated.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger because she threw away all the pictures.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger because she spent all the money my Grandmother had left for her funeral so her kids wouldn’t be burdened with the cost.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger because of course she burdened her kids with the cost of her death because she never did anything that was in the best interest of her children.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger at her selfishness.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relief that she is no longer in pain.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relief that she can no longer hurt us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Guilt because I wanted to be with my mommy in her final moments.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Guilt because I didn’t want her to die alone.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness because I wanted a mommy.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness because despite how mean and angry she used to get when we were little, at least she had a fire in her belly that disappeared years ago.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Joy that she is no longer suffering.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that even after death, she was able to find a way to stab each of her children one last time.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that even though she is gone she has still found a way to make our lives more difficult.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that she was never a parent and never came through when we needed her.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that she saddled her children with thousands of dollars worth of bills.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that I was finally doing okay and she just smashed that to bits, like she always did.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Happy that her death brought my sisters and I closer together.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness because she needed help that wasn’t there in time to make a difference in her life.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness that I will never have the mommy I deserved.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger that she just gave up on life, now and years ago.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relief that it’s all over.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at a world that doesn’t take care of its people.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at seeing my mother’s dead body laying in a cardboard box because that’s what happens to the poor.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frustration at the slippery slope of poverty and how it takes a lifetime to crawl out of it and in a flash, you end up right back where you started.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anger at a system that shames people for not having children, but then abandons them when they are here.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at the world.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at my mom.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at the heavens and earth and everything under the sun.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rage at the injustice of it all.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the hope that has ended.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the mom I will never have.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the little girl who lost her mommy.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the teenager who knew better but was powerless to make change.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the adult who had to cut her mother out of her life because she decided to put an end to the cycle of abuse.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief for the woman who just wanted to be able to call her mom and share some good news, but couldn’t - because her mom wouldn’t listen - because her mom would start calling obsessively and leave nasty messages on her phone - because her mom would report her missing to the police and she would wake up to at knock on the door at 7am on Easter morning and have to explain to the police officer that she was fine, that she was never missing, that her mother is mentally ill, and get the response, “you should call you mom,” then sigh because people just didn’t understand.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Elation at never having to hear another person say, “but she’s your mother,” as a response ever again.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relief at never having to explain why “it’s complicated” when someone asks about your mom ever again.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Joy at just being able to say “she’s dead” and get a sympathetic response.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness at people never really understanding the full story.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grief at letting go of all that old pain that protected and shaped me my entire life.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fear of what is left of me without all that grief and pain.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fear for what lies ahead.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Excitement for what lies ahead.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relief for the fear that is being lifted from my shoulders.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Exhaustion from the weight of it all for all those years.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gratitude for the support systems I have built over the years.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And at the end of each day, I just feel numb. Numb from fighting to stay above the water. Numb from the torrent of emotions washing over me. Numb because a person can only handle so much at once. I can’t sleep for fear of drowning. I am buoyed by the support from my loved ones, but the storm still rages and it will be a long time before the seas are calm again. I am comforted by the knowledge that “this too shall pass.”</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Often I had been known to say, “it would just be easier if she were dead.” That’s true. It will be. Just not yet. I have all the tools to survive this storm, but I still have to rebuild the ship before I can sail again. This is a storm that has been on the horizon for a long time and just because it has finally hit, it doesn’t make it any less devastating to experience. I know I will eventually sail again, but right now, I am lost at sea, trying to keep my head above water and barely succeeding. My mom is dead and it’s complicated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: courier; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for reading and witnessing me.</span></div>
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Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-54234610178624250082019-01-04T16:41:00.002-08:002019-01-04T16:44:27.184-08:00MONTH #66 - THE LONG EXHALE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">It has been a while since I last posted. I even missed my anniversary post this year; the first time since starting this blog in 2013. I thought about it, watched the date come and go, yet still wrote nothing. I didn't write in 2018, period. For quite some time, I was worried about my lack or writing and spent many evenings beating myself up over it. Not noticably, but quietly, in the back of my mind: I was failing myself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">Over the last two years, along with my writing, my self-care routines have disappeared. I watched all those things that gave me grounding during my therapy process fall away. I got angry with myself. In November, at breakfast with a dear friend, I finally put words to my feelings and soothed those voices in my head.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">What was causing this great scism in my life so soon after putting all the pieces back together? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">A relationship. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">I had entered into a wonderful, exciting, and above all, healthy relationship... and my inner world imploded. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">As I watched my routines and will to write </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">fall from the endangered species list into extinction</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">, I tried to comfort myself. This happened during therapy, too. I tried to reassure myself that everything would one day come back, much like they did during therapy. It was to no avail. Panic had set in and p</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">anic supercedes the rational brain.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I didn't want to lose all that I had worked so hard to achieve. I didn't want to give myself up to the thrall of love. I didn't want to lose my path. The last time I lost myself was because of a relationship and I was terrified of it happening again. Was this the cosmic joke? I could have myself or I could have love? Either I walk my path or his?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">That's the funny thing about life: it wasn't a question of mine or his - we were embarking on "ours." A mysterious new path that one only hears about in fairy tales, usually implied by the words "they lived happily ever after." (Notice how most stories cover the getting together or splitting apart but not the "what to do when together"? What's with that?! Anyhoo, I digress...) I was fighting through the bush at the end of my old path, not seeing the new path that lay clear before me. Resistence is futile when it comes to the paths that life decrees. You can going willingly or be dragged kicking and screaming along it. Until November, I was kicking and screaming under the self-delusion of acceptance. I had worked so hard for my old path, that I couldn't see the the changes the new one demanded of me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I kept waiting for my old life and routines to meld into my new one. I grew impatient waiting for everything to resotre. I kept looking back for the road when it lay ahead. At that breakfast in November, I looked at my friend and said, I surrender. I surrender to my new path. To my new life. To the new routines that shape my days.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">My old routines had served me well. They gave me strength and focus when </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;"> was all I had. But now, I was part of a team. What served me before, no longer served me now. There were new practices that needed to be learned.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">My entire life, I had dreamed of a home with a partner that fit me perfectly. I finally had that - and it was terrifying. No one gets everything they want. As with most good things in my life, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For everything to fall apart. But that was my old narrative. The young girl who held her breath her entire life, moving from one calamity to another. It took some time for me to actually believe that all this happiness was real... and safe. Eventually, I began to trust. To trust that maybe, just maybe, this time, everything was going to be okay. After all, I'm not a little girl anymore. I have proven that I can handle adversity in spades. And even if everything did fall apart, didn't I deserve just a moment to enjoy a life where everything was wonderful? So started the long exhale...</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">Ambition had left the building. I didn't want to fight, struggle, or drive forward. I just wanted to sit and be still. I didn't care if I ever wrote again. After fighting so long and so hard for every little thing I had, I just wanted to put down my weapons and be overcome. I wanted to enjoy the moment. I got angry at the voices that would say, </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I should be writing</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;"> - or doing this or that. I felt my inner child in perpetual tantrum: </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">NO! I just want to be left alone for a while.</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;"> </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">Just let me breathe!</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I was safe and protected. I could put down my load for the first time in my life. For once, that little girl who had fought so hard and journeyed so far had a someone who was </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">her</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;"> someone and all she wanted was some time to curl up in that loving comfort and rest her battered soul for a while. Maybe for the rest of my life. I couldn't say. I just needed to be able to stop - to stop and exhale. I just wanted to be in the safe happy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">So, that day at breakfast, I stopped. I gave in to the pleadings of my inner child and said: <i>okay, we're done. We're done for as long as you want.</i> Because why do I have to write? Why do I have to be anything other than what I am right now? So, I gave myself permission to just be, as long as I wanted. I exhaled - finally. I slept. I laughed. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;">I learned how to bake bread.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; white-space: pre-line;"> I let the air enter my lungs and began teaching myself how to breathe again. Inhale, exhale.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">I accepted that maybe I would never write again. Maybe that is something I don't do anymore and that is okay. If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with. Well, that's true about all things in life. I needed to let go of who I thought I was as a writer. To let space into my life for who I was becoming. I had to let go of old ideas to make room for the new ones. My old routines that fed me solo, weren't the ones I needed now. I felt at peace. I was no longer at war with myself. It was the greatest relief I had felt in a long time.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">Happiness has been struggle. Many things long buried have come up and out. Fears of abandonment, of failure, of not being enough have flooded my days. Instead of fighting, I lay down and held my breath. I stayed in my warm, comfotrable home tucked away in the wintery north and let all those fears wash over me, until they subsided and I could begin to breathe again. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">Today, I wrote. Maybe it will continue, maybe not. I will take each day as it comes and continue to breathe. Inhale, </span><i style="color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">exhale</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #000018; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-line;">...</span></div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-8536836346365768242018-01-31T18:34:00.002-08:002018-01-31T21:05:28.856-08:00BELL LET'S TALK - MOMMY, DEAREST...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Growing up, my mother would often tell me the story of her pregnancy. She would say that every time she went to the doctor, he would tell her it wasn't too late to get an abortion, but she would tell him that she desperately wanted this baby (even though she was newly divorced and going to be a single parent of three). She wanted to keep this baby. This was a sign of my mother's love. Even though other people were encouraging her to get rid of me, she wouldn't listen. Thinking about that story today, my response is very clear: <i>You should have listened.</i><br />
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This response may come as a shock to many. I currently have an amazing life; a good education, thriving career, nice home in the city, with a man and cat whom I adore. Why would I say that my mother should have aborted me?<br />
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It is simple: I am the exception, not the statistic. Most of the kids who grew up in my situation got caught in oppressive cycle of poverty, addiction, and mental illness. I was never supposed to make out. I still don't know how I did. My therapist says it was hard work and will, on my part. I say there was also a lot of luck. I grew up dreaming of being rich enough to see the poverty line in a home with a mentally unsound mother who was abusive and negligent. This is not a recipe for success. By some twist of fate, I beat the odds. I have a life that makes me happy. So extremely happy, that it is terrifying. After years of therapy, I am not crippled by this happiness, but that too has been a lot of work.<br />
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It is from this happy place, that I can look back objectively and say, despite being able to create an incredible life for myself, I don't think my mother should have given birth to me. The suffering I had to endure to get here was more than any child should experience. And remember, I am one of the rare cases that has a happy ending. Objectively, I am statistical anomaly. An outlier. This is why I feel it is important to look back and say: no, given the circumstances, I should not have been born. As the unaborted fetus, I say, it was not in the best interest of the child to give it life. And I am one of the lucky ones...<br />
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My intention is not for this to be a pro-abortion piece. It is merely to give you perspective. My purpose is to address another taboo subject matter: parental debt. The idea that we owe our parents for our lives and therefore are indebted to them when they age and need our support. This introduction is to shed light on my question: what do you owe a person who gave you a life you didn't want?<br />
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My mother recently moved into a nursing home. After years of prolonged drug abuse, she is no longer able to care for herself and needs to have her actions monitored by twenty-four hour care. Her public assistance barely covers the cost of the home and my family has taken on the burden of the bills for other amenities. As her daughter, there is a sense of responsibility to cover the excess costs that she cannot. Yet, the very idea fills me with rage. Even typing this, I can feel my skin boiling. Why? Why am I responsible for her? Why do I owe her anything?<br />
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All my life, the phrase "because she is your mother" has been hurled at me, as if having unprotected sex and carrying a fetus to term is all one needs to do for undying gratitude. Well, I don't feel grateful. In fact, I feel bitter and resentful that anyone should imply I owe that woman anything or even ask it of me. Parents are supposed to provide unconditional love and protection for their children, and instill in them a sense of safety. This is not the case for children who grow up in abusive households. They grow up in a constant state of fear. The people who are supposed to be their protectors become their assailants. They never develop a sense of safety or the ability to trust. That state of fear stays with them their entire lives. I grew up on high alert. When times were good, I would constantly search for signs that the tide was going to change. It always did. I learned to thrive in crisis. Happiness was just the calm before the storm. It wasn't to be trusted.<br />
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After my years in therapy, I thought I had broken free of the psychological prison that had held me through my youth. I was happy. Happy without fear. It wasn't until I finally allowed myself to enter an emotionally intimate relationship that I discovered that the shackles ran deeper than I had ever imagined. I started experiencing PTSD flashbacks.* These flashbacks were triggered by the emotional vulnerability of the new relationship, which I had not experienced before. I was safe, but, to me, safe was not safe. Luckily, I have a very patient partner who has taken the time to understand the cause and effect of my upbringing and how it is playing out in our lives. As well, we are both taking the steps necessary to learn how to deal with these flashbacks, but it's hard and it's embarrassing to find myself in these helpless states so many years later. I just want to be done with it. It's frustrating. I don't want this burden anymore. I never asked for it. This was the life I was born into.<br />
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Now, I go back to my mother. She is an aging woman with many mental and physical ailments. She needs help. I feel bad for her. I wish her well, but I don't feel responsible for her. I spent much of my life supporting her and putting her needs first, which I can say, she never did for me. Now, I have reached a point where I am choosing myself first. Yet, still, I struggle with guilt. I struggle with all those voices who have said, "but she is your mother."<br />
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If I had suffered the same abuse at the hands of a lover, I would be told: walk away and never look back. You owe them nothing. It is unfortunate that children, the most innocent and vulnerable in abusive environments, are not afforded the same empathy. We make excuses. We say, "parenting is no easy task." We say, "but they did the best they could." What if their best is just not good enough? What about the children who were robbed of their voice, their power, and their sense of safety? Why is there some special exception where they are responsible to their abusers?<br />
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Maybe those voices will haunt me for the rest of my life, but for now, I need to listen to another voice. To that neglected child who was never heard. To her rage. To her voice that is screaming, <i>I don't want to give her any more.</i> That is who matters now. She will have her voice heard now.<br />
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To all those other daughters (and sons), who struggle with fractured ties to mothers (or fathers) who did not provide for their basic needs as children, I want you to know, you are not alone. I'm with you, struggling beside you. You don't owe them anything. You survived because of you. I wish it was easier for you. I wish you didn't suffer this conflict inside you. I wish there was a way to make it all go away. I wish that for you, as much as for me.<br />
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And to all those people who think life, under any circumstance, is worth protecting... let me tell you, it isn't. Speaking on behalf of a fetus not aborted, the quality of that life is more important that simply being alive.<br />
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*Article on Complex PTSD & Flashbacks:<br />
https://psychotherapy.net/article/complex-ptsd</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-59843955517863952252017-07-29T16:55:00.005-07:002017-07-29T16:56:21.798-07:00YEAR #4 - WHAT DREAMS MAY COME<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m losing track of time.
My Facebook reminded me today that it was time to celebrate the anniversary
of <i>My Year Without Sex</i>. I can hardly remember when it started. My life is as polar opposite as it possibly
could be… in all the best ways. It has
now been four years since I started this whole journey. Back then, I felt as broken and lost as any
person could. Now, I’m whole, confident and
happy. I have a sense of where I’m
sailing, but more than anything, I’m just happy to be on the water at the helm
of my own ship. I’m at peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Two pretty big events have occurred recently. Firstly, I finished the initial draft of my first
novel. The biggest struggle was
overcoming the voices in my head that told me I can’t. It took me nearly six months to tackle the
final fifteen thousand words and three months to do the first eighty-five
thousand. There was a block. I couldn’t do it. Finally, I gave myself a drop dead date of
the July 31<sup>st</sup>. If I didn’t
finish by then, I was never going to do it.
That set the stage for the final battle with myself. Did I give up on myself? Did I give in to the voice saying it was just
a pipe dream? Fortunately, I wasn’t
ready to lay down and die just yet and I pumped out the last fifteen thousand in
four days, like I was possessed. I came
through for me. That was the lesson that
became really clear this week – I can always count on me. That’s nice to know. It’s hard to know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The second major event, is that I have a boyfriend. For real!! For purposes of this blog, I will call him
Angus. He is wonderful. And everything happened at the right time and
everything has been really simple… for the most part – battling personal demons
aside, but I will get into those in another post. I’m so unbelievably happy that it is almost
too much to bear… almost…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Which brings me to last night, when I had the strangest
dream…</div>
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I dreamed that I had an affair with The Ex and got
pregnant with his child. I talked to him
about it and he said he wanted to keep it.
We began living together with the child.
I waited around the apartment with the child for him to come home. When he finally did arrive, he was carrying a
pair of ladies’ boots. I knew that they
belonged to another woman and confronted him.
He said he didn’t choose this life and he wasn’t going to give up what
he wanted to play house with me. I was
devastated. I began screaming and beating
on his chest, while screaming “I didn’t choose this. You said you wanted this. I gave up Angus for you. All I want is to love you.” – That was pretty
much when I woke up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I haven’t had a nightmare in quite some time, but that
was the closest I come these days. When
I woke, my chest was tight and I was panting.
Even recalling it makes my chest seize up. It took a couple minutes to see the many
meanings within the dream.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I’ve said before, dreams about former lovers often
signify a release of emotion. In the
past year or so, all my dreams involving The Ex have ended with me telling him
off or running away from him. All I can
gather from this is that my subconscious is working out all the things I wish I
had the opportunity to say in person, but likely never will. Therefore, they happen in the
dreamscape. This dream plays to the
feelings of abandonment I experienced by The Ex’s unwillingness to commit to
the relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It also brings up my feelings of unworthiness. In the dream, I left a happy situation to be
with a man who didn’t appreciate me. I
think that was the scariest part of the dream – the idea that I gave up Angus
to be with The Ex. Just thinking about
it brings tears to my eyes. There is a
part of me that struggles with the fact that life is so good right now. Whether it is waiting for the other shoe to
drop or wondering how one person can possibly possess so much joy, I can’t say,
but there is a weight to all this happiness that terrifies me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The one thing I take away from these dreams is that I
never back down. I always stand up and
fight. I may never stop fighting these
battles in my mind. I may never fully
heal all those old wounds. But I know
that I will never stop trying. I will
fight for myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While trying to finish this post, I kept thinking: so
what? What does this all have to do with anything? I think the greatest thing that I’ve learned
over these past four years is that nothing comes without sacrifice. The new joy I have found in this new
relationship brings the letting go of old dreams. The success I have found in work, has meant
that I miss out on other life events, as I type this in my office while two of
my dearest friends are getting married miles away. I’ve had to let go of dear relationships that
turned toxic along the way. Make choices
about what’s best for me, even if it was the harder path. With all the joy I’ve found, there has always
been a price to pay. I guess, that’s why
it is always important to know yourself, otherwise, you may discover that the
price you pay is too high for what you get.
One of the things I realized when reflecting back over those years I
spent lost at sea, I came to realize, back then, I was so afraid to lose that I
didn’t realize what it cost me to stay.
I’ll never pay that price again.
That’s what this journey has taught me.
I choose me.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-91824761254488570712017-05-02T19:42:00.000-07:002017-05-02T19:42:11.919-07:00MONTH #45 - RAINY DAYS AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is my day off and I find myself sitting in the window of a cafe on Yonge St in Toronto feeling very contemplative. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it is the paino lesson that was frustrating but good. Maybe it's the young couple that ducked into the bus stop to make out right in front of me. Maybe it's the rain.<br />
<br />
It has been quite some time since I last posted here. It has been a busy and fulfilling time, full of excitement and adventure, but less about quiet reflection. It is nice to steal a few minutes away from the world to check in.<br />
<br />
On December 12, 2016, I had my last session with my therapist. It has been nearly six months since I last had any contact with her. It is strange. Therapy was so much of my life for the last four years, and now... well, it's a new world. Our last session was a beautiful trip down memory lane. We laughed, we cried, we exchanged gifts. We held a little ceremony where we smudged with sage and I went on my way into the world at large, ready to take my place in it. That first step out her door was surreal. After four very intense years, I was captain of my own ship, as I never had been before. <br />
<br />
I went out on New Year's Eve for the first time since 2012. I wanted to celebrate, despite the fatigue I felt from working two contracts. It marked the end of one journey and the start of another. <br />
<br />
During autumn of 2016, I came to a realization that my life was barely half over. I had spent so much time lamenting all the things I had missed out on doing because I hadn't done them when I was younger. Then, in October, I did the math. If I relived every single day of my life I would be nearly sixty-nine years old - four years after normal retirement age. Barely a senior. After that, barring any calamity, I could still reasonably expect to live another fifteen to twenty years. I wasn't even half way through life and already mourning the things that would never be. I still had time to redo everything I had done up until that day, and then some.<br />
<br />
I look back over the past ten years and am dumbfounded at the number of things that have happened. I don't even feel like the same person. I can hardly fathom what the next thirty-five will hold. Though time does seem to fly by these days, seventy has always felt closer to thrity-five than twenty. It wasn't until I actually counted it out, that I was able to realize I have a lot of years left and that nothing had been missed. I was, as I typically do, just following my own path. That was when I decided to fill the time I spent in therapy with piano lessons. In ten years, I want to be a pianist.<br />
<br />
On my first day, my teacher asked if I could find middle C on the piano. I couldn't. Turns out, it is the key in the middle of the keyboard. Aptly named. A few weeks ago, I was playing <i>Ode to Joy</i>, quite proficiently, may I add. I had come a long way in a matter of months. Today, I was back to feeling like everything I played sounded similar to a cat walking across a keyboard, but my teacher was encouraging and wouldn't let me sit in my defeat. She urged me on and sure enough, things began to sound like some form of music again. I just need to practice.<br />
<br />
This has become my motivational motto these days: <i>It just takes practice</i>. I apply it to everything I do. Dealing with conflict: practice. Playing the piano: practice. Writing: practice. I'm writing my practice novel. I've never written a novel, so I decided to try. Just to go through the motions. The first draft is almost complete. I'm not sure what will happen with it, but at least I know how to go about doing it. That's what this motto is about. It is not about the success or failure of an endeavour, it is about the learning that comes with trying something. Sometimes things work, but, as I've learned from playing the piano, when you first get started, most often they fail, but each time, it gets a little easier. And you often see pay off in places you wouldn't expect. I was shocked how much the three months of piano lessons were already paying off at work. <br />
<br />
When you're starting a journey up a mountain, you can walk for hours and feel like you have not made any progress towards the summit. It's not until you look back and see how far the ground seems that you really see how far you've come. I think I've been spending too much time looking up the mountiain and not enough looking back on where I was, just a short time ago. It feels especially disheartening when you've just summited one mountain and now find yourself at the bottom of a new peak. I guess life is just a series of mountains. We can choose to climb or we can be content circling the base. I've always been a climber.</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-17424780290814874752017-04-24T20:59:00.000-07:002017-04-24T21:00:35.154-07:001000 DAYS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, I've been away writing a novel for the past few months and have not checked in here with updates about how I'm doing. After chatting with a friend I recently reconnected with this evening, I decided to check out where I last left reader on this blog. I read "Get Over It" and then noticed my counter along the side that said today is 1000 days since the end of My Year Without Sex. I just wanted to say in the three minutes before midnight, that life grand and all is well. Updates to come soon! xoxoxo</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-89050275084772606172016-10-11T15:34:00.003-07:002016-10-11T18:55:07.167-07:00MONTH #39 - GET OVER IT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My ex got engaged.
This is the last axe that needed to fall to sever all attachment. It’s strange, because he has been in my
dreams lately, which I know signifies a release or letting go of
attachment. I must have felt this
coming, so I was already in a state of release when this news hit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Some people might say, “It’s been six years, how are you
still not over this.” But that is the
thing with emotions and relationships, you don’t just “get over them.” Sometimes emotions coming flooding back
unexpectedly, and you need to process them, otherwise there is no release and
they will lie in the shadows waiting to strike at any time. There is no statute of limitations on how
long it take to process emotion. You
just have to let it run its course.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I read the news on Facebook last night and it struck
me. It took a while to process what I
was feeling. I went into shock. I felt numb and electric all at the same
time. My first response was to email my
therapist. I needed to be witnessed in
this. It was late and I knew she
wouldn’t receive it until the morning, but I needed to send out a white flag –
I need extra support and my therapist tends to be my first responder.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was hard to get to sleep after that. All the feelings of the break-up and being
made to feel unworthy came flooding over me.
The betrayal I felt from friends after we split. The loneliness. The abandonment. I let the feelings consume me and bawled on
and off for the better part of an hour.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also cut all the remaining ties to that part of my
life. (Aka, a cleansing of Facebook
friends.) Not that I don’t still care
for those people, but because I need a clean break. I need to not be reminded of that part of my
life for a while. It no longer serves
me. For some people it was hard. I love them personally, but I need to step
away and make room for those who play for Team AJ.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By the time I woke, I had forgotten the entire situation
(Bless Sleep!). It wasn’t until I saw an
email from my therapist that I remembered.
Well, the moment of respite was wonderful, but back to mourning. I sat for a bit and cried. I called a couple friends. First, one of my best girlfriends, who knew
my ex and I and who had gone through a similar split, so she could understand
the lingering emotions of the end of an important relationship. Then, a friend who helped me work through
much of my emotions regarding my ex.
Then a little more crying and some cuddles with the cat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now, I’m writing. The
thing I am most happy about in this entire situation is how well I am able to
process the emotions. While chatting
with friends today, I described it as sailing.
I know how to captain my own ship now.
I can ride the waves of emotion and chart a course that will get me to
safe harbours during a storm. I no
longer get overcome and drown in the emotion, struggling to keep my head above
water. I’m not adrift at sea, waiting to
be rescued. I have a boat and I know how
to sail.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After being away from therapy for a while and facing some
major emotional challenges, I have been thinking that I am reaching a point
where I don’t need regular therapy any more.
I am okay. I have the tools I
need to ask for the support I need and capability to receive it. I won’t shrink and hide any longer. I can also name and understand the emotions I
am feeling and navigate them accordingly without denying or repressing
them. I may be ready to be therapy-free,
which is ultimately the goal!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Despite the emotions I’m experiencing, it is quite
rewarding. Even through the mourning, I
can’t help but feel proud of myself for dealing with it so well. For taking care of my needs and not denying
my emotions by thinking “get over it already” or “you should be past this by
now.’’ By exercising self-care and
compassion. For showing myself the love
I give to others. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Too often, we bully ourselves into thinking our feelings
are wrong, so we push them aside and don’t address them. That’s when they are left to grow into
neuroses. We become accustom to ignoring
them, so we don’t see when those past hurts that we left unresolved start
directing our actions. As a society, we
have put expectations on “sucking it up” and “bouncing back.” We don’t have the tools to allow for the
appropriate time to grieve. We try to
“fix” the issue, when some things just can’t be fixed. We become uncomfortable “sitting in the
shit.” We want to clean it up and make
it better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That doesn’t solve anything. Your feelings need to take up the space they
take for as long as it takes for you to work through and heal. We need to start viewing emotional wounds as
we do physical. If someone breaks their
arm, you don’t complain that the person is still wearing a cast two weeks later. The bone takes the time it take to heal and
if you rush it, it just makes the injury worse.
Emotional trauma is the same. If
you have been badly hurt, it will take a long time to get back to normal, and
even then, things may not fully heal and you may have to deal with residual
effects of the damage.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There have been many days that I have wished for the last
of this attachment to die away, but it wasn’t time yet. Then, one night, after a lovely thanksgiving
dinner, you are sitting in your bed, stuffing and pie swirling in your belly, a
contented grin on your face, and it hits you: the time is now. Here are all the remaining things you’ve been
clinging to and it is time to let them go.
You don’t want to at first. It hurts
as one by one, you release, but at the end of the next day, you are calm. There is a new peace; you feel free. You still feel a little raw from the gaping
hole that is left behind the exodus, but the scar tissue that forms is clean
and strong, and in time, it will fade to nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
I’m really proud of me right now. Self-high-five!<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-50550161452696366262016-09-25T16:49:00.001-07:002016-09-25T16:49:40.791-07:00MONTH #38 - ALL ABOARD AT THE MANIFEST-STATION!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Everything is good right now. Really good.
I am really working hard right now on staying focused in the present and
manifesting positive energy. That sounds
so wrong coming from me. I can hear past
versions of myself laughing at the hippie nonsense I’m spewing, but I’m on the
manifesting ship! Toot! Toot!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And I don’t mean only thinking positive. I mean taking away the negative self-doubt
that often leads to <span style="background-color: white;">self-sabotage </span>before you even try. I
am spending a lot of time on self-care and prioritizing self-care. Eating right, meditating, ritual, writing,
exercising. Who am I?! A big part of self-care is looking out for
all aspects of self: mind, body, heart, & soul. It takes a lot of time. Making time for it seems hard at first. In fact, I failed a lot. It has taken me nearly a year to actually
realize the importance of making these things a priority. Yet, it seems to yield positive results. Life has been pretty sweet and everything is
on an upswing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This makes me nervous.
When life gets too good, I get anxious, as if I’m waiting for the other
shoe to drop. My big focus now is to steer
the conversation in my head away from that part that catastrophizes every
scenario, especially my love life. When
I feel myself start up that spiral, I need to exercise particular care. I need to concentrate on grounding all the
other aspects of myself to bring my mind back in check. When there is balance, there is clarity… and
peace. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ll use this time to ground my meditation and writing
practices. To organize my time so that
my self-care times become sacred. We
have lost the importance of honouring rituals.
We pay them no mind because they don’t fit well into our busy lives, but
they are the things that hold us on this Earth.
Without them, we drift away.
Making those few moments sacred to yourself, gives you worth. When you see your own worth, others can’t
ignore it. It ripples through the world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is what I mean by manifesting positive energy. You are a mirror and reflect whatever you
give. Therefore, when you make yourself
important to you, you become important to others. What I have learned repeatedly through my
therapy process is that the path that you can see, is rarely the one that leads
you to the outcome you desire. As the
fox says, <i>“One sees clearly only with the
heart. Anything essential is invisible
to the eyes.”</i> (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-77324188876849407342016-07-30T11:01:00.002-07:002016-07-30T11:05:29.918-07:00WEEK #156 - FOXES & UNAVAILABLE MEN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Faithful readers will recall that I have a habit of
falling for emotionally unavailable men (The Ex, Kryptonite, anyone that I have
gone out with more than 3 times…). Since
the new year, I have had a lot of time to ponder and explore the reasons for
this. In Feb/March, it dawned on me that
perhaps I am the one who is emotionally unavailable. Those who know me well said, “well, duh!” But to me, this was a revelation. It had never occurred to me that maybe it was
<i>me</i>.
So, I decided to try an experiment.
I rejoined the online dating world (as I do every 3 months or so, with
no success). This time I laid it all on
the line:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Strong, confident
woman with commitment issues seeking friends-with-benefits-type relationship
with intelligent, attractive man with a sense of humour. Apply within.
</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I got a pretty good response, but to my surprise every
single one of my dates cancelled at the last minute – there were 6 in one week. I had no idea what was happening. That is what triggered all my abandonment
issues and brought my feelings towards my mother to light, but that is a
different post. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now, I see what happened.
I wasn’t ready to commit, so I came across as someone easily
dismissed. Also, my goal wasn’t to have
a bunch of random dudes that I slept with.
I wanted one person that I slept with regularly with no pressure to develop
things into anything more than a close friendship. It has not been until my most recent bout of
online dating that I have finally been able to answer the question of “what do
I want?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What do I want?
This is a question that has been plaguing me for quite some time. My friends, family, coworkers and therapist
keep asking it, to the point where I get immediately defensive when I hear
it. My response has always been “I don’t
know!” But, as part of my therapy work
(and a relationship with a friend that uses that phrase for every question you
ask him), I have made a commitment to remove it from my vocabulary when
referring to emotions. At this point in
my process, I do know what I want. The
words may not come easily, or be easy to say, but I know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I want a relationship that has the space to develop at
the pace I need it to (aka molasses in winter). This is when the tattoos on my
wrists came back to haunt me. The longer
I have them, the more meaning they seem to hold. I have trust issues. This is why I have to have it permanently
etched on my body in a place where I can see it all the time. To remind me that it is okay to trust;
people, the universe, life. It takes a
long time for me to trust and when I start to feel myself becoming vulnerable
to another person (or feel that person allowing themselves to become vulnerable
to me), my flight mechanism takes control and I want to run for the hills (and
usually do). The best example of this
was with the only successful online dating experience I have had. It was with a guy I shall call, Irish. (Side Note: We are still good friends and for
two years he has lamented that he has never been mentioned in this blog, so he
will be happy to finally have his story told.)
Irish and I hit it off like wildfire.
Everything was going really well, but he had just moved to the country
and didn’t know many people and I could see that he was beginning to invest
quickly in our relationship. I was into
it, but I had to move slowly. Everything
inside was telling me to run, so it took all I had to just stay where we
were. This caused “issues”. It all culminated one night at a concert
where we got into a big fight which ended in tears and him leaving. Ultimately, I was crying because I couldn’t
understand where I took the wrong turn that resulted in being 32 years old and crying
over a boy at an emo concert for a band named Issues (I had taken my niece and
her friend to the concert). The main “issue”
was he wanted to be more involved and I said I needed more time. Not really sure how that resulted in breaking
up, but it did. We laugh about it now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is, at heart, the same story for all the “nice” boys
I’ve dated. They fall fast and I
run. Hence, the appeal of the
emotionally unavailable man. That is a
relationship where I am in control. They
don’t fall fast, so I can take as long as I please to become invested. The trouble is that they stay uncommitted. So, what is it I want?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My other tattoo answered my question. I want to be tamed. I’m scared.
The idea of a relationship, though, in theory, is appealing, mainly fills
me with anxiety. I can feel the stress
rising even typing about it. The tattoo
on my right wrist is the fox from <i>Le
Petit Prince</i> by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
When the Little Prince meets the fox, the fox asks the Little Prince to
tame him. He explains, <i>“You have to be very patient. First you’ll
sit down a little ways away from me, over there, in the grass. I’ll watch you out of the corner of my eye,
and you won’t say anything. Language is
the source of misundestandings. But day
by day, you’ll be able to sit a little closer…”</i> That pretty much sums it up. As much as I heal, there is a part of me that
will always be that abused little girl, afraid to let anyone close. The only way to overcome that is through
quiet patience. Ultimately, it would be
nice to find someone who is just as scared as I am, so we can move slowly
closer, together. That way we would
understand when the other gets a little spooked. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, that’s that. After
34 years, I am finally able to put words to what I want. It’s not fairy tales, it’s not a prince, it’s
not big wild romance. It’s quiet, it’s
simple and it is slow. Now, to find my
fox… maybe he’ll be silver. *wink*<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-17466943872653092412016-07-28T21:54:00.001-07:002016-07-29T06:06:26.960-07:00TWO YEARS POST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I repeatedly try to write this, all my words seem
false. I keep coming back to the
question taped to my keyboard “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SAY?” The answer is, I want to say that I’m
okay. I’m doing alright. I finally feel whole, grounded and confident…
most of the time. And the times when I
don’t, I know how to bring myself back to that place of grounding. I don’t spend much time lost anymore. I know my way through the woods and with each
passing year, I know my way a little better.
Even as paths change, I can find those landmarks that will lead me back
home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I want to say that I did it! I fought all the demons and won. That I am not alone. That I will survive. That I know love and have it in my life. That I am worthy and worthwhile. That I feel, deeply. That after all that I have faced, I stand
tall. I did it. I did it all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It has been two years since this great experiment ended,
yet my journey had barely begun. I had
only faced minor demons, despite feeling they were monstrous at the time. This year has left me battle-worn. The ultimate challenge was confronting my
anger towards my mother. I hadn’t
realized that I had not possessed the strength to actually feel its weight
until this year. Despite being stronger
and more grounded than ever, the emotions overwhelmed me and shook me to the
core, manifesting in all aspects of my life until I broke down and couldn’t
help but face it. The Universe seems to
like doing that to me. It never lets me
shy away from the things I need. It will
beat me over the head until I face the things I run from. (And heaven knows, I’m
a runner!)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To address the anger towards my mother’s neglect and
abuse, I wrote a letter. Knowing that my
mother would not be able to hear what I said, I didn’t send it, which allowed
me to be shockingly candid. My therapist
was speechless when I read it to her. It
feels good to read it. It is a victim’s
letter from the girl who was silenced for so long. It felt great to give a voice to that part of
myself. To say that the way I was
treated was wrong. That I was a child
and should have been allowed to be a child.
To be taught, loved and guided.
Not shut away, manipulated and terrified. To address the damage I have had to fight so
hard to overcome. To, literally, learn
how to breathe again because I was always so terrified that the sound of my
breath would draw the attention of her rage. To refuse to be invisible any
longer. And to say that it was all so
very unfair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Form grieving the unjust way my mother used me, emerged
emotions that I still had about a woman who had acted as a surrogate mother to
me for a large part of my life. Years
ago, we ended up on opposite sides of a bad divorce and I had not seen her
since. I always mourned the loss of her
in my life. I couldn’t even talk about
her without crying. My therapist suggested
that perhaps there might be something I needed to deal with there. (What?!
Really?!!) She suggested I also
write a letter to this woman and tell her what an impact she had on my life and
ask if she wanted to meet. My biggest
regret of that relationship was that I never got to say goodbye to her in
person. She was still out there
somewhere and I never got to tell her how much I love her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, I wrote the letter and this woman agreed to meet
me. You may think this seems like
nothing, but this divorce created a divide between families that would make the
Montagues and Capulets seem chummy. It
was an unspoken rule that we would never see each other again. This meeting was completely illicit and will
never be spoken of to any of the family, but it happened and I will cherish
those few hours until my dying breath.
It is my most special memory.
Despite being treasonous, this woman met me because she needed to see me
just as much as I needed to see her. She
was my mom and I was her child. It was
the first time that I understood what the unconditional love of a parent looked
like. We both spent most of the lunch in
tears and reaching for the other’s hand.
It was beautiful. Imagine if you
lost a parent and by some grace, you were allotted 2 hours with them. It was magic.
Now, I can’t talk about that day without crying, but they are my
favourite tears to cry. I relish them
falling down my face. I had a mom who
loves me and wants nothing but my happiness and is just as sad that I am not in
her life as I am that she is not in mine.
I would cry these tears forever because they represent that love. It is beautiful. That day healed a part of my soul that I
never thought could be healed. That day
changed me forever. I was given a gift
that can never be taken away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We parted ways knowing that we would likely not see each
other again, but she left me with the assurance that if I ever need anything,
she would still be there. I had the love
of a mother. A good mother. With no strings attached, no conditions, just
pure love, even in the face of adversity.
I had never known that before. I
kept seeking it from a partner, but that’s not the place to find it. I finally felt whole.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, that’s what’s been happening over the past six
months. It feels like the final battle
that won the war. My fight was over and
I could return home, mostly whole... there is now a large scar across my
face. It is my favourite feature. It is my battle wound. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Seven years ago, I discovered a part of myself that I had
completely forgotten existed. At the
same time, a cyst developed on my left cheek.
I had it checked and it was nothing serious and it was never mentioned
again until this year. Then it was
mentioned all the time. I got it checked
and the surgeon said it had to come out.
For seven years, it has felt like there is a pile of garbage in my
cheek. Now, I have a two-inch scar that
I love. I feel like I’ve come out of a
war and am returning to this new life as a changed person. As I was reading through old posts, I had
written that I wish people could see the scars that are on the inside. To me, this is what the scar on my face represents. It is right there for everyone to see. I earned this scar. I fought and survived. I wear it proudly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There was so much more that I had planned to talk about,
but I think I’ll save that for another day.
Right now, I want to celebrate all that I have achieved in the past
three years. I want to acknowledge the
courage it has taken to let myself be so exposed publically. To stand up and share my pain, fear, and
darkness with the hope that others may find solace in it. I have to admit that lately, I have been
questioning whether anything I have to say is worthwhile… until tonight. This magic night, when I was reminded that
even if I don’t always see the impact, I have impact. I am a lighthouse. I have made the journey through the darkness
and when others get lost, they seek me out.
I lose sight of that sometimes. As
scary as it seems, there is a power in remaining vulnerable to others. Tonight, someone dear to me reached out. They remembered me telling them about when I hit
rock bottom and how I came out the other side. They said they needed help finding their way. They turned to me. Then a flood of
similar examples flowed through my head.
This is worth it. It does mean
something. And, if for nothing else, it
means something to me. This is my
journey. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have been thinking about where to go from here. Life has become substantially less
dramatic. Therapy is winding down and I
am living; simply living. So now, I am
going to retrace my steps and create a road map of the journey I took. I know so many people in HEP therapy now,
that I feel like it would be useful to create a guide book of strategies I used
to survive my journey, what to expect and how to remember that everything is
going to be okay (even if it feels like you’re going to die). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Thank you for sharing this journey with me! Thank you for supporting me as I stumbled
through the darkness. Thank you for
standing by me, even if I couldn’t see you there. And thank you for continuing to follow me on
this path. I’m so happy to be in this
life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(Also, as a quick side note, I seem to have accidentally
repeated my Year Without Sex. I am
approaching 55 weeks; a new record!
Re-reading posts about how I struggled through the first year, I find it
hilarious to think that now I have done it again without even noticing. Despite my lamentations about the state of my
love life, I find comfort that I naturally refuse to compromise any part of
myself in order to attract a man’s attention.
There’s the real progress.)<o:p></o:p><br />
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Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-73104613053621407902016-02-08T12:07:00.003-08:002016-02-23T07:18:30.117-08:00WEEK #132 - WAITING SUCKS!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Recently, I have been feeling particularly sorrowful at
night. I have spent a lot of time trying
to find what it is, to limited avail.
Today, after some self-love, a thought came to mind, “I miss
Kryptonite.” (Faithful readers will
remember Kryptonite was the person I was seeing just prior to the start of My
Year Without Sex in 2013.) I went back
through old pictures to see if it was him that I was missing or what he
represents. Happily, it was what he
represented. I miss real physical
intimacy with a partner. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kryptonite and I met while we were working together in
2007 and had an instant connection. We
maintained a distant friendship over the years, and in 2013 reconnected after
both coming out of long-term relationships.
Our connection was magic and we quickly entered into a sexual
relationship. It is only now that I
realize, he was the only person since The Ex that I have been able to be both
physically and emotionally intimate with.
It is that relationship I miss.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The tough part of is that those type of
relationships don’t come along every day.
They take time and energy to build.
So, even if the right person were to walk into my life today, I am still
months (even years) away from the connection I’m seeking. It’s a wee bit disheartening. And, here comes my pessimist for a moment,
every day that passes that I don’t meet that person, is one day further away
from what I’m seeking. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know, I know, it could be that I’m one day closer to my
match, but honestly, sometimes I just need to revel in the sadness for a bit,
so please keep your happy, optimistic comments at bay. The truth is, not compromising yourself is
lonely. Intimately lonely. I have many deep, personal connections with
people, but it’s different. When I go to
bed at night, I want it to be in the arms of someone I love. I know that love is worth waiting for, but
until then, it’s lonely. So, sometimes I
cry. Sometimes I sob. Sometimes I get frustrated with the world and
scream. But, eventually, I sleep. I face a new day. And I wait.
I have yet to be able to predict any of the magic that has happened in
my life. It could be today. It could be never. I wait.
I sit in the loneliness. It
sucks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-75530749949201063392016-02-01T17:51:00.004-08:002016-02-23T07:20:32.507-08:00HOW SELF-ESTEEM KILLED MY SEX LIFE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As I lay in bed on the morning of New Year’s Day, I
realized that I am 8 days away from six months of no sex (I did the math). I laughed at this, because I remember how
difficult the first six months were when I started “My Year Without Sex” and
now it just kind of happened without my noticing. I thought about joining Tinder, just to find a
“friends with benefits” situation, but even that was met with a big NOPE by the
voices that control my brain. It seems
that 2016 will be the year of the Cat Nun.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What has led to this self-imposed pseudo-accidental celibacy?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, let me tell you!
It is self-esteem. But, how is
that a thing? Shouldn’t that help your
dating life? NOPE. I did all this
amazing work on myself and feel self-assured, confident and worthy… and now I
have no sex life. For most of my life, I
was only worth what a man would give me.
I my self-esteem was measured by whether a man was attracted to me or if
I could get him to sleep with me. Now, I
don’t need that validation. In fact, I
don’t need a man (or woman) at all. I’m happy
on my own until I meet someone who can match me in my new-found power. Hence, the barren wasteland that is now my
love life – I’m still searching. <o:p></o:p></div>
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(I wish someone had told me this would be a thing three
years ago, there were a bunch of people I would have loved to sleep with during
that time! Jokes… kind of…)<o:p></o:p></div>
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For my group therapy intensive in November, we had to
bring in a song that describes where we are at in our process. My choice was <i>Holding Out For A Hero</i> by Bonnie Tyler:<o:p></o:p></div>
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I need a hero; I don’t have room in my life for anything
less. So what exactly does this man look
like?<o:p></o:p></div>
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He is a man who can match my strength, instead of being
intimidated by it. A man who can meet me
at my most grounded and confident. It’s
a man who is not afraid to take a look at himself and expose his vulnerability. He is a man that will share the good and bad
in his life without making me responsible for it. A man who owns his choices and moves
confidently through his life in the direction of his passions. A man who can say how he feels honestly. A man who doesn’t hide, even the parts he may
not like himself. A man who doesn’t need
me to make his life better, but wants me, because I do make his life
better. A man who doesn’t shy away from
my bigness, but instead can meet me with his own. So far, it’s been hard to find.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My friends tell me that I’m looking for a unicorn. I say that’s why I’ve become a Cat Nun. This doesn’t mean that I’ve closed myself off
to the possibility of a relationship. In
fact, shortly after making this declaration (hours later), a man that I have
been secretly-not-so-secretly in love with opened his heart to me (which messed
me up for many weeks afterwards). He’s
not in a place to acknowledge his feelings, but he did show me what a unicorn
looked like. He taught me they are out
there and I can find one. I just need to
be patient. That’s my challenge for 2016
– patience.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some friends have suggested “toning it down” at the start
of a relationship in order to avoid scaring a man away. To this I responded, if he scares so easily,
it’s not going to work. I spent many
years diminishing myself for the sake of a partner and I’ve come too far to do
it again, even a little. No one should
ever have to be less than they are for a relationship. That is a relationship destined for failure. I won’t be part of one. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that
alone is better than almost right. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know what the future holds. I hope that one day I will have sex
again. From what I remember, I really
like it. It’s pretty awesome,
actually. But, then there is the part of
me that knows I’m worth something, my body is worth something, and I don’t want
to give that away to just anyone. I want
whoever it is I sleep with to actually see me.
To see how special I am, because chances are, if I’m willing to have sex
with them, it’s because I see how special they are, too. I can’t have it be empty anymore. I need something more. That’s why I’m holding out for a hero.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s going to take a superman to sweep me off my feet. ;)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-21099735080779027002016-01-27T21:04:00.002-08:002016-01-28T10:25:05.121-08:00BELL LET'S TALK - REFLECTIONS ON MENTAL HEALTH<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When you spend everyday talking about mental health, what
do you write on a day like Bell Let’s Talk, that you wouldn’t say any other day?<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s been the question I’ve been grappling with all day, as I sit in the fort I built in my living room.
Maybe, that it’s okay to be you. Everything
that comes out of my brain seems cliché.
But, it is the truth. Find people
who like to be around you in all your weirdness. I sent my roommate a message last night that
I was going to be taking over half of the living room with a kickass pillow
fort and his response was “sounds awesome.”
That’s how I know he's a good roommate.
He accepts all my weird stuff. In
turn, I accept all his weird stuff. And
we are happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, on this day of mental health awareness, I ask you to
be aware of your mental health. Do the
things that you want to do. The things
that make you happy, which may not be the same as the things that society
expects. From my experience, society
doesn’t know how to be happy. There is
no set of rules that apply to everyone and trying to get everyone to fit into
the same box makes most people feel uncomfortable and crowded. Stay out of the box!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, here is my "out of the box"... these are pictures of my kickass new blanket fort called, The Fortress of Soliloquy (because it is also my new writing office). I’m 34 years old and it felt great to build. I made plans and everything and I’m very happy with the result. I shared these photos on Facebook and it was one of the most liked albums I’ve ever had. It’s funny, all the things that I share that are really weird and out there get the highest response from people. Doing things that make me happy, seems to make other people happy too. Being brazen and confident about my eccentricities let's other people feel comfortable about their own.</div>
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And that’s really the heart of what I have learned in my own journey to mental health; when you take care of yourself, others are inspired/free to care for themselves as well. I think that’s the real principle of the “teach a man to fish” parable – you can help someone with their problem, or you can show them how you solve that same problem. You couldn’t teach a man to fish if you didn’t know how to fish yourself. You can’t help someone love themselves, if you don’t know how to love yourself. You can’t make someone happy, if you are not happy with yourself. Everything starts and ends with you.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nxmfvUuZy_k/VqmdvwS2y2I/AAAAAAAAAwc/p6xVRNiDJyc/s1600/12572980_10156484214815440_7256852191048832640_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nxmfvUuZy_k/VqmdvwS2y2I/AAAAAAAAAwc/p6xVRNiDJyc/s200/12572980_10156484214815440_7256852191048832640_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>That’s why mental health awareness is important. Too often it is the voice in our own head that makes us miserable. Our inner dialogue tells us that we aren’t good enough. We haven’t done enough. We aren’t worthy. That is the demon we all have to face. And the scariest part is that no one can change it but us (and it knows all our secrets!). That’s why talking to people helps. We get to know our demon when we give voice to it. We can see how it thinks. What it says. How it feels. Then we can begin to change. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jIslGTy7pE8/VqmdsyfCjGI/AAAAAAAAAwI/r-0Tv3KqvI0/s1600/12552887_10156484215050440_4599051395215411446_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jIslGTy7pE8/VqmdsyfCjGI/AAAAAAAAAwI/r-0Tv3KqvI0/s200/12552887_10156484215050440_4599051395215411446_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>For me, therapy was the answer. For others, it was yoga, or exercise, or writing, or art, or any countless number of things, but the important thing is to express whatever is locked away on the inside. And to not be scared of the darkness. From a very early age, we are taught that bad things lurk in the dark, so why would we want to look at the dark corners of our souls? That’s where the bad things are, right? Wrong. That’s where we hide the things that hurt, but hurt is the other side of joy. It is much like Newton’s Third Law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Every feeling also has an equal and opposite feeling. That means until we look at our hurt, we cannot know the full extent of our joy. We need both of them. And if we’ve tucked all our hurt away where we can’t see it, then of course we feel empty, because we have no basis for the joy we know we should be feeling but aren’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I ask everyone to shed some light on the demons in the dark. When we look at them, they tend to be less scary than we think and in need of a little TLC. Be kind to yourself. Be forgiving to yourself. Be honest with yourself. And let yourself feel all the things your body is telling you you want to feel. What you feel is right. You are worth it. You are good enough. You are brave enough. You are alive, and that is reason enough to try. :)<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Also, check out my post written as a guest blog released for #BellLetsTalk, <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2016/01/repost-on-suicide-letter-to-those-at.html">here</a>.</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zzcz0ueEiWE/VqmdwW52BjI/AAAAAAAAAwo/C1A1VTr3BW4/s1600/12640416_10156487357795440_3542598794156889906_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zzcz0ueEiWE/VqmdwW52BjI/AAAAAAAAAwo/C1A1VTr3BW4/s320/12640416_10156487357795440_3542598794156889906_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fort Life!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-62386844297011337322016-01-27T11:40:00.003-08:002016-01-27T11:44:23.576-08:00REPOST: ON SUICIDE: A LETTER TO THOSE AT THE EDGE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a guest blog I wrote for <a href="http://www.everythingbutthecat.net/" target="_blank">Everything But The Cat</a>, which went online today. I'm sharing it here, as well. <a href="http://www.everythingbutthecat.net/#!Guest-Blog-On-Suicide-A-Letter-to-Those-at-the-Edge/c1kyp/56a90f5e0cf215a9bb9d6eea" target="_blank">Please click here for the original link</a>.<br />
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To My Fellow Traveler:</div>
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First, I want to offer a sincere apology. I am sorry you haven’t received what you need to stay in this world. I wish someone was there to hold you now. I wish someone would tell you everything will be alright. I wish that was a promise someone could keep. I want you to know you are not alone. </div>
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It is for this reason that I’m writing this letter. You have every right to choose to end your life. I will not think any less of you if you do. But, if you can find a way to stay alive, I ask that you try, because I need you. I need you because there are so few people in this world who ever see the darkness that you see right now – and darkness is where beauty lives. </div>
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So few people are willing to look at what you are facing right now: that raw, scary side of ourselves. That side that is dark and hurts. That side that we are always told to hide away, that people don’t want to talk about. The ugly, raw stuff that is at the core of our being. It scares people because it is not polite. It is not nice. It is not sunny. But, I have to say, those people are full of shit. The fear of their own darkness keeps them from looking at it in another. That’s bullshit. And it kills. It kills our soul.</div>
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Only in darkness, can you experience the true splendor of light. Much like our atmosphere during the day, the expectations of society create a false roof on our world. You need to wait until the black of night to know the stars exist. Don’t allow this cage to kill you. It is not real. There is so much more beyond what you can see right now. You have set sail on the sea of night. That is where the stars live; where infinite possibility lies. </div>
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Right now, you feel like you are the only ship on an endless black ocean, but I assure you the shore is near. There are people who know the darkness well and keep lighthouses burning for lost ships, like you, through the night. They remember too clearly the loneliness of the sea. I urge you to sail long enough to reach a lighthouse. </div>
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You may long for death; I beg, don’t do it. Do anything else. Explode your life. Run away. Grab whatever you can and head out down the road into the unknown. Leave everything and everyone behind. RUN! Start over – anywhere. Do anything. Just stay alive for a little bit longer. Look for someone else who has seen the darkness you now see. Find a way out. Death never stops being an option, life is finite. What do you have to lose? If the alternative is always death, why not try anything else? Just stay alive for one more day. I need you.</div>
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I need you to join my legion. A legion of people who have danced with death and lived to tell about it; walked the darkest depths of the underworld and come out the other side. People who have known the extent of human suffering and survived. It is through suffering that we gain the capacity for compassion. How can we truly understand another’s pain, if we refuse to know our own? This world is lacking true empathy. Too few people can face themselves and live. You stand at the precipice. Just keep sailing. Those people running the lighthouses have found a way through the night and are looking for you. On this black ocean, we need as many sailors to reach shore as we can get – there are too few lighthouses, and fewer who know how to tend them.</div>
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I know what I ask isn’t easy, but neither is your other choice. I don’t know what takes more courage, life or death. Maybe they are different sides of the same coin. Either way, you are brave.</div>
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Thank you for taking the time to read my plea. I hope, one day, to meet you and talk about the darkness. Hopefully, we can lessen the weight of it for each other. But mostly, I hope that you find peace in your soul.</div>
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So, though we may not have met, may never meet, I want you to know that I carry love for you. I love your darkness because it is the only way to see your light. If you do choose to depart this earth, know that I mourn your passing and pray that you will find what you seek in the journey beyond. May you wake to a kinder life. </div>
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Much love and respect,</div>
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AJ Laflamme</div>
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xoxoxo</div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-87493777580295552422016-01-14T20:59:00.002-08:002016-01-28T10:02:10.118-08:00BLAST FROM THE PAST: THURSDAY, JANUARY 13, 2011 - 11:54PM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Recently, I have been reading some of my old scrawlings from before I began my road to healing. It has helped me understand how far I have come. As a new feature on this blog, I will share some of these journals from the past that really describe the where I came from.<br />
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The first is from 5 years and one day ago, to the hour. I am blown away at how opposite life feels now. This entry epitomizes my journey.<br />
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<b><u>THURSDAY, JANUARY 13, 2011 - 11:54pm</u></b><br />
Each day I sit down at my computer. To procrastinate. I am so afraid of the future, it has become paralyzing. Even when it stands before me, a hopeful shining beacon. I am being dragged forward kicking and screaming by time. I sit and wonder how I let fear become the most powerful force in my life. I used to have such drive and motivation. It all faded away in my years of waiting and now I am afraid. My heart aches and I don't know if I can handle failure or rejection... or success. Pain and solitude have become so welcome and familiar that I don't know how to live without them. The thoughts of returning to China keep coming to mind, but I don't know what I hope to find there. What I left behind has vanished with the passing of time. My fairy tale is over and I should continue to look forward and not back. The past couple of years have beaten me so, that I am weary and weathered. My thoughts are scrambled and I find it hard to focus each day. I go through the motions and appear where I am expected, but in body only. Artificial happiness is all that comforts me now. Or, as was pointed out, artificial numbness. The absence of feeling, it is close enough to happiness to suit me. To get me through the long and lonely days. It does not battle the fear but it eases the pain of the solitude. Perhaps it is the winter and being unemployed again (well, unemployed-ish!) I do have many things to be thankful for, but I still find myself down in the doldrums. There is the part of me that feels determined to make this year the best one yet and the following even better. I will accomplish all my dreams. I just need to keep persevering. It becomes hard when it seems like the world is beating you down from all sides. I wish people could see the pain inside. I wish they could see the amount of will it takes just to get out of bed each day, just to wake up. My heart is bleeding out and just when I think that I have mended some of the wounds, a fresh and deeper cut comes quickly and often unexpectedly. Tomorrow is a new day, with new possibility. I will try to take advantage of each one. Oh, I also have to add, Thanks be to God! His miracles never cease to amaze me each and every day.</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-56008656630491412132016-01-01T22:10:00.001-08:002016-01-02T22:44:26.972-08:00A YEAR IN REVIEW - 2015<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As 2015 comes to an end, I have spent some time
reflecting on what has been one of the most formative years of my life. Appropriately, I am sharing my struggles and accomplishments
here. Mostly, I just want to see all the
things I’ve overcome in one place and honour this journey and the person who
did it all, me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>JANUARY</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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I think this post from my Group Therapy journal sums up
January the best:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EazKReQ_cR8/VodoJE0Mv9I/AAAAAAAAAvA/vbQAeeXiDaE/s1600/CAM05575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EazKReQ_cR8/VodoJE0Mv9I/AAAAAAAAAvA/vbQAeeXiDaE/s320/CAM05575.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This was when I was in the heart of the underworld. It is the “hell state” of the process. Everything hurt. I had no control over my emotions. It was almost like being a baby and rediscovering
the world for the first time. All I
could do was sleep and cry. Not to
mention that I was working full time during this time, so yeah… that was a
thing. It was, by far, the most
difficult part of the entire process (well… sort of… it was the most difficult
for the longest time). There was psycho-somatic hallucinations, lucid dreams,
overwhelming despair and a whole host of other things that made me not care
about a single damned other thing in the world.
It was sort of great.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was also grieving the death of my father during this
time. I visited his grave for the first
time since he died 11 years before. I
discovered that a headstone had never been placed. The man I never knew was lying in a grave I could
not find. I did eventually find the
place where is he buried, but I did not get the closure I was looking for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>FEBRUARY</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Again, I will describe the month with a picture from my
Group Therapy journal:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Most of the month was spent in/moving out of the hell
state, but by the end of the month, I began to get my feet back. I think it is pretty safe to say I spent a
lot of time in the bath and napping. This was when I began to become more vocal
about what I need and really focused on taking care of myself. I remember telling my therapy group that
there were weeks I just wasn’t going to come because I needed 24 hours when I
did not leave my apartment. And I did
this without feeling guilty. I started
to realize my power. I will no longer
back down and let people walk all over me.</div>
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<b><u>MARCH</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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March was an exciting month for me. It was really focused on moving out of the
fantasy world I built in my head and coming back down to reality. Taking my place on this planet. Letting myself feel love and standing up for
the little girl inside who was never allowed to have a voice. It was the first time that I actually started
to own my voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was also the month that the universe kicked me in the
ass and decided that I get what I deserve, which was more than I had ever been
willing to give myself. My apartment
building came down with a pest problem and given their lack of action on other
matters, I was not confident that they would deal with it in a timely manner,
so I gave my notice and immediately started looking for another place to live. For nearly 5 years, my apartment had been my
sanctuary. It was small, but it was my
home and I loved it. I would often talk
to my therapist about how I would, one day, buy the building so that I would never
have to leave. I couldn’t believe in
such a short amount of time, I was going.
I also decided to get a roommate, which for the girl who can do
everything on her own, was a big step. I
found a place that was beautiful. When
submitting the application, they only needed my information for the apartment
to be approved. It was really vindicating. Not that I could afford the place on my own,
but the building management felt confident that in my career as a self-employed
artist I would be able to manage the apartment without someone else on the
lease. To quote myself from March 30/15 “It
really feels like I am slowly stepping strongly into a new chapter of my
life. Every other time a major shift has
happened, it has been haphazard and chaotic.
This has kind of come unexpectedly, but I feel that I have so much
direction and clarity now. I am making
connected focused choices that are the best for what I want.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>APRIL</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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This was the month that I really connected to the pain I
suffered as a child through bullying and how that made me disconnect from my
body. I was able to discover my vulnerability,
but also to discover my strength in being vulnerable. It didn’t mean weakness, like I had always thought.
I allowed myself to be seen as a
vulnerable being, but also I was received by my peers with love in this state,
which was also new. It was like a
rebirth. This image from my group
journal really sums up the month:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Yl1gxSr9Qw/VodolGOtJ_I/AAAAAAAAAvQ/PYOpTCmnpOc/s1600/CAM05576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Yl1gxSr9Qw/VodolGOtJ_I/AAAAAAAAAvQ/PYOpTCmnpOc/s320/CAM05576.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>(As a side note, I
really didn’t draw much before this year and didn’t much afterwards, though it
may seem like I had a whole lot of drawings in there.)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b><u>MAY</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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May was crazy. I
moved at the beginning of this month and then began preparing myself for four
months on the road. It was mayhem, but it
all got done. I continued to own my
power and speak up for myself. I asked
for help unapologetically and did not feel indebted afterwards. By this time, the conversations in my head
had completely changed. I was now
constantly praising myself and telling myself how great I am. The only chiding that was done was when I
said something negative to myself. I
also spent a lot of time reminding myself that I was entitled to everything I
had. I had worked hard and continued to
work hard. I deserved my success. Big words for me. Really big given that two years before I
nearly had a nuclear meltdown when my therapist brought up the word ‘entitlement’. I saw red.
Now, I feel entitled. Quite the
journey.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>JUNE</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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I was away in a rustic trailer by the St. Lawrence River
for this month. It was the start of a new
work relationship with a bunch of people who I have never worked with
before. It was exciting and scary. This was my chance to put my new grounding to
the test. It was tough. I was working with a lot of really fit people
and we lived on a beach. I struggled a
lot with my body image issues. Bikinis
around co-workers who are in peak physical condition, when you are still
carrying around your therapy weight is hard to deal with, especially when you support
group is a couple hours away. I was
finally reaching a point where I had energy and a desire to feed myself good
food. I just wished that I had time to
let my body reflect that before I had to expose it to the world. Alas, I was forced to accept myself for who
and where I was in my journey. Ah,
Universe, you and your lessons!!! I
shake my fist (but really, I thank you for it)!
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>JULY</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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I was home for a brief time. Still dealing with the new living situation. Working out some roommate issues and
preparing to leave for another couple months. This was also the last month in
which I had sex in 2015. It was really
great, but I realized how I needed to be met in a relationship and I couldn’t
settle for anything less (even if it was just for fun). It has now been almost 6 months. I don’t even really notice that much anymore. Funny, how my whole year without sex was such
a challenge, and now I’ve gone six months in a blink. I call myself a “cat nun” now. I’m forming my own religion called The First
Order of Cat Nuns. Manifesto to
follow. It will be great. I’ll leave July with an excerpt from my group
journal that highlights my mind at this time: “I am terrified to work through
mattering, being seen, and having my opinions matter. I am important and my voice will be
heard. The universe is calling and I can’t
avoid it.” This is really when I started
to come into my own power. I began to see
the life I wanted and feel the call to action to live it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>AUGUST</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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In this month, I flew to Regina, Saskatchewan for two
months. It was my first time there and I
did not bring my cat. My cat helps
ground me more than anything in my life.
This was going to be a real test of where I was in my process. Before leaving, I had a really great therapy
intensive where I was validated about the progress I had made and really took
in the love and respect of my fellow group members. Also, I allowed myself to be recognized for
my accomplishments. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had started preparing my own healthy meals by this
point. As well, I was being physically
active on a regular basis. Two very big
things that I had struggled with for a long time. I was also enjoying eating healthy and being
physically active (words I never thought I would say). Before leaving for Regina, I floated the idea
of graduating group therapy by my therapist.
She seemed receptive of the idea.
I said I wanted to see how I fared away from all my support (and my cat)
for two months and then check in when I got back. This would be a real test of how far I had
come. I left with nerves and excitement
in my heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>SEPTEMBER</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Still in Regina.
Missing my cat desperately, but staying strong and confident. Practicing speaking up for myself. Made super good friends with my roommate
there. Dealt with stress from home. All in all, staying fairly grounded. Navigated a serious crush on a man who pretty
much fit my description of the perfect man, he was even emotionally available… though
not physically available. He was
married, and before you get your knickers in a knot, nothing happened. We hung out a couple times and just talked at
work. You wouldn’t even need a PG rating
for the movie. He was just one of those
people who I had an instant connection with.
It was so wonderful. It was a
soul attraction. Anyway, I was able to
not spin out of control and obsess. I kept
myself open and honest and I didn’t let him get away with taking advantage of
my vulnerability – which was a big step for me. I made sure that I was able to get what I needed
from the friendship and stated my needs, which was really just to chat. I made sure there was balance. This was also the month I swore off dating
forever. Not because of this guy. I briefly dated another gentleman out there,
but it was so much work. I don’t have
the patience for it. I deleted my Tinder
account and have not been on a date since.
All hail the Cat Nuns!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><u>OCTOBER</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I CAME BACK HOME!!!!
This month brought about even more change (as if this year hadn’t
brought enough). My roommate and I
decided that we weren’t well matched and he gave his notice. I found another roommate and all went down
fairly painlessly, which was great for me!
I had expected a conflict, but everything seemed to just happen the way
I needed it to. Also, a big month in
group. I announced that I was ready to
graduate. I did a great job of keeping
in touch with all the people who really support me while I was gone, especially
when I was feeling low. I can now ask
for help and support. I don’t need the
confines of the group space in order to maintain those relationships. I can take what I have in that room and apply
it in my day to day life. This was a big
step. I am taking control of my own
life. I am ready to face whatever the
future holds.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><u>NOVEMBER</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, all the confidence from October was shattered in
November. Talk about trial by fire! There has been this boy. I have loved this boy for a long time. The love has changed over the course of our
relationship, but I never stopped caring about him. He has helped me through my process in ways I
can’t even describe. He changed me. Anyway, I hadn’t really spoken to this boy in
about a year (with the exception of yelling in his face on various occasions –
all fully deserved and justified). Well,
we had never resolved the animosity between each other. To put it lightly, the atomic bomb went off
in November. The story is too long to
get into in a “year in review”, but at the heart of the matter, the emotionally
unavailable man showed up and opened his heart to me. Before graduating group, I knew that there was
still this unresolved tension between us, but I decided I couldn’t wait around
for him to acknowledge his emotions, so I was leaving, because I was
ready. Anyway, the announcement of my
intention to graduate set of a series off triggers that resulted in a few weeks
of really intense emotional exchanges, just enough to break my heart open and
leave it bleeding for the world to see.
It cracked me open in a way that can never be closed again. My final piece of work was to tell him how
deeply and truly I love him. It was hard
but freeing. I felt exposed and raw but
more whole than ever before. I finally
knew what it looked like to have someone love me so completely to the core that
it was too frightening to even look at.
It allowed me to open my heart.
Now, I can’t seem to close it, but ironically, in my hopes to distract
myself from the gaping wound in my chest, I have been writing – passionately and
consistently. Apparently, I used boys to
distract me from writing, well, now I am using writing to distract me from the
person I love but can’t be with. So, I
guess that’s a win?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><u>DECEMBER</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And to round out the year, probably the biggest month of
my life! Really happy to be heading into
2016. December felt like a culmination
of all the things I had accomplished during the year, and really, the past few
years. It was also a closing of a lot of
chapters. On December 14<sup>th</sup>,
2015, I graduated from my group therapy. This was a day dedicated to me. A celebration of all my work. It was the most wonderful day I have ever
experienced. It was so full of love it
hurt to the core. I fell asleep that night,
after barely eating, so full. I had never
felt so nourished in my all my life. I
couldn’t move and slept so soundly. The
following quote from <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Khalil Gibran</span></span> pretty much sums up what I experienced in
Nov/Dec 2015: <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>If you love and have desires, let these be your desires: To know the pain of too much tenderness; to be wounded by your own understanding of love; and to bleed willingly and joyfully.</b></i></span></span><br />
I also got my first tattoos to commemorate my journey. Here they are:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJijn2royDA/VodoKcFJ7eI/AAAAAAAAAvI/OcNm31MzVZg/s1600/PhotoGrid_1451621693386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJijn2royDA/VodoKcFJ7eI/AAAAAAAAAvI/OcNm31MzVZg/s320/PhotoGrid_1451621693386.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Trust” to remind me to always trust that the universe
has a plan and I just need to stay in the present moment. I have patience issues. I need to be reminded to surrender my
delusion of control. The other is the
Fox from <i>The Little Prince</i> by Antoine
de Saint-Exupéry. It is my favourite
book and the Fox is my favourite part.
He teaches the Little Prince that “one sees clearly only with the
heart. Anything essential is invisible
to the eyes.” Also, that we are
responsible forever for the things we tame.
Both lessons that I need to keep on hand (or on wrist… bwa, did you see
what I did there?). The tattoos were a
big deal for me because I have never marked my body in any fashion, not even
piercing my ears. This was me really
claiming myself as a whole being. The
rest of the month I spent resting, recovering from the year and learning what
life will look like now that I begin leaving therapy. (I still have individual
sessions with my therapist, but will be going down to once every two weeks.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Mommy, wow! I’m a
big kid now!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><u>WHAT’S UP NEXT…</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Well, a quiet but magical new year’s eve. Hopefully, this signifies the coming
year. As I sit listening to Pacabel’s
Canon in D while watching fireworks out my window, Ripley (my cat) on my lap, writing
while sipping champagne, awaiting the bells of the new year, I can’t help but
think that the way forward looks wonderful.
I am really truly happy with where I am right now and for the first time
I feel like I am moving forward with eager anticipation. The new year will bring magic. Because you are never too old to believe in
magic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Things look promising.
I feel really peaceful about what is coming. I know that I have what it takes to deal with
whatever comes my way. Also, much like
my time in my underworld, I am so distracted by curbing my feelings for this
boy, that I can’t care much about what else is to come. It’s kind of exciting, to be open and waiting
for life to unfold. My new roommate is
exactly what I need in my life right now.
Work is going well. I’m
writing. I’m feeling in command of my
writing. I’m getting healthier. I’m feeling great.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think the thing that fills me with most hope for the
coming year is my choice to sit at home this evening to write, to make my
writing a ritual. For 10 years, I have
been saying I wanted to be a writer, but I have been too afraid to expose my
voice. I’m still scared, but I no longer
let fear dictate my life. There are so
many scary things that I face every day, this is now just one more. Fearless courage leads to victory. That’s the motto I bring into this new
year. I am choosing me. I am choosing my goals. I am taking the risks, because hey, what do I
have to lose? I am finally who I want to
be.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-47626471180942309412015-12-31T16:46:00.003-08:002015-12-31T16:47:47.206-08:00THIS WEEK IN THERAPY - LETTERS FROM HELL - PART III (DESPAIR IN THE UNDERWORLD)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Continuing the piecing together of my trip to the
Underworld (aka the deepest, darkest places of the psyche), I will go through
the notes I made while in that state and try to elaborate on their meaning and
the feelings I was experiencing at the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>***If you are
confused, please read the first part of the series <b><u><a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/03/this-week-in-therapy-letters-from-hell.html" target="_blank">Letters from Hell – Part I (Waking Darkness)</a></u></b> and the second
part <b><u><a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/12/this-week-in-therapy-letters-from-hell.html" target="_blank">Letters from Hell – Part II (Manifesting Oblivion)</a></u></b>***<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve kept the original bullet notes and then expanded on
the idea below.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a>- <i>Despair v.
serenity<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember stating repeatedly during this time that
commonly people think that hope is the opposite of despair, but I have
discovered it is not – serenity is.
Despair is the totally lack of hope and emotion – a completely apathetic
place. You may argue that is not the
Oxford definition of the word, but as someone who spent a lot of time in the
state of despair, I tell you it is. Much
like love and hate, despair and serenity are so very closely connected that it
is impossible to know one without the other.
As I reveled in my despair, I came to know the serenity of being alive
in a single moment – still hopeless, but at peace. There is great peace in foregoing hope. I
spent a lot of time finding serenity in despair – the joy of literally not
giving a fuck about what anyone thought.
Nothing in the world seemed important to me and in that came
freedom. I try to remember that feeling
when I begin to drift back. It’s
grounding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
- <i>Trust v. hope<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I talk a lot about killing hope and this will be no
different. I really hate hope. It is awful!
I’ve abandoned this misleading notion we call, hope. Hope implies doubt. I have come to trust. Trust that the universe will carry me safely
down the path I am to follow. Trust that
what lies ahead is what I am supposed to do and that all things will happen in
their time. Hope is stagnant. Trust is active and alive. Trust is present. Hope is living in the future. Worrying about what might be. I’ve come to realize that life has become
much easier since giving up on hope.
Instead of fretting over what decisions I should make based on some
theoretical future I hope to have, I make choices based on facts that are
presented to me in the present and trust that those will be right for me – and
to tell you a secret, they always are. I
spent so much of my life worrying how my story would end and trying to
manufacture the path to get there, that I didn’t even notice the soft grassy
trail under my feet. Maybe I won’t get
married or have kids or a house or many of the other things I spent so much of
my tweens and twenties dreaming about, but I will have the life I was meant to
lead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
- <i>Serenity w/
surrender <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Part of moving from despair into serenity was to make
peace with an absolute surrender to life.
Accepting that I had no control over the events that shaped my world was
hard to swallow, but necessary. There was no energy left in my body to fight
the tide of life. I was spent. I didn’t
have any “fucks” left to give, so I gave myself over to the world and said, “do
as you will.” And that’s where I found
true peace. It was a wonderful state of
being. I try to remember that feeling
often and carry it with me throughout my days to keep me grounded and
present. Accepting that I don’t really
have control has been the most freeing revelation I’ve had. It keeps me in the moment. All I can do is react to what it in front of
me and carry on. On a side note, I may
have swung a little too far to living in the moment and have started to drop
the ball on things that need to be planned ahead, but I hope to find balance
soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
- <i>Living in the
darkness<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Oy! This is a hard
one to describe other than the absolute epitome of giving no fucks at all. This is the part I wish I could get back to
the most. It was truly amazing. Every movement of my body was so heavy and
took so much energy, that everything else in the world seemed trivial and
irrelevant to my life. I honestly and
truly just did not give a single damn about anything, but not in a “I won’t
participate” sort of way, I still went about my life and worked, but any issue
just rolled off like water down a duck’s back.
It didn’t phase me at all. I
dealt with things, but was never affected by things. We had a crisis at work during this time and
funnily enough, everyone was so impressed about how cool and level-headed I was
throughout it all (which in my line of work was a tremendous asset). And it’s not that I didn’t care, it was just
that I knew whatever was happening only affected the present moment and it
would eventually be done and gone and everyone and everything would
continue. It would either go well or not
and then we would deal with that. It was
incredible. I am still so fascinated by
those feelings at that time. As I’ll
cover in the dichotomy of emotions, it was paradise and hell all at the same
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
- <i>All the dreams –
mapping the psychic dream world – lucid dreaming<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m a person who generally remembers their dreams, but
this became something else. My dreams
became so alive and vivid that I often had a hard time waking up. When I did wake, the reality of my dreams
seemed so much more real than waking life.
It was confusing at times and I would attempt to go back to sleep to
re-enter the world of the subconscious.
The thing that I began to notice in my dreams was my lucidity. It was like I was building a map. Sometimes I would be in a place where I had
dreamt I was previously and be able to recall the last time I was there and
what happened. I could also remember
other dreams that happened elsewhere, but close by to the location of the
current dream. I would stand in a city
square and be able to tell you directions to different places where other
dreams had occurred. The directions
wouldn’t necessarily be linear, either.
Sometimes walking one way would take you to the bottom of one place, but
if you turned around and left the same way, you would go to another place –
strange, but the connections to the various areas made complete sense because I
was so familiar with it. I had lived in
all these places. I was also an active
participant in my dreams. I could
rationalize some of the events and pick out things that were not accurate even
within the dreamscape. Recently, the
lucidity of my dreams has faded and I wake having trouble recalling what they
were about, though I know that they are still happening quite intensely, because
I wake with the essence of them still lingering, yet I am immediately so
present in this world, it takes a while for it to register that I should
attempt to remember them and by that point they are gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- Dichotomy of
everything in the world, life and me – two equal and opposite emotions/thoughts
existing at once within<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The most prominent thing that came out of this experience
is the dichotomy of life. Everything has
two equal and opposite parts. Much of
the time in my “hell state” I oscillated between fits of extreme happiness
accompanied by unstoppable tears and uncontrolled laughter in times of great
sadness. I was almost manic. It took
some time to adjust to. This was also
hard for people to grasp, how can you be happy and sad to such extremes at the
same time? There is no real way to
describe it other than saying it just is.
When I faced the deepest despair, the future actually looked the
brightest I have ever known. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- Dancing with life
– jinx & superstition, not giving honour to the universe for the gifts
given to you<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had a conversation with a friend around this time. He was having great things happening in his
career and I was overjoyed. “This is
YOUR year”, I said to him. “Don’t jinx
it!” he replied. That was when I
realized how my perceptions had changed.
I couldn’t fathom the idea of “jinxing” something anymore. I was dancing with my life. I could feel the flow and I either made the choice
to go where it took me or resisted it.
If it brought me happiness and prosperity, I gave thanks and celebrated
the moment. I have no idea what may be
coming in the future, so it is important to relish in the delights of today
while they last. There is no such thing
as “jinx”. Taking pleasure in today’s
accomplishment won’t ruin my chances for future success. If the universe has given me a gift, I will
celebrate it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- This too shall
pass… I am here.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the first time ever, I was present in every moment of
my life. I felt everything
viscerally. I could feel my body and how
it moved. I could even feel the passage
of time. Each moment was just a moment. For as much darkness and despair I felt during
that time, I was aware that it too would pass away for other emotions and I
would feel those just as deeply. Life is
just a compilation of present moments and each of those pass away just as
quickly as they came. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Again, I wish I was able to journal about this time when
it was happening. For the past year, I
have slowly been working away on these notes while trying to accurately remember
what it felt like during that time. This
is the best account I have been able to give.
My therapist practices HEP (Holistic Experiential Process). This basically means reliving all past trauma
and reprogramming the way you deal with it.
It starts with some mild talk therapy, but as we have moved through the
process, it has included a lot of various body and energy work, group therapy
and anything else under the sun to bring me into myself as a complete and whole
person. I’m now moving towards the end
of the process, but what I have described in the series <i>“Letters from Hell”</i> describes the rock bottom of the process – the part
that is like a living death, only to be reborn later. It was by far the most difficult and intense
part. I still get angry when people say “they
understand” or “have been there”. It is
like a soldier coming back from war and describing the horror they saw only to
hear someone say “yeah, I saw a guy get mugged at gunpoint before, totally the
same.” That’s the best I can come up
with to express how difficult the therapeutic process can be. On the other hand, it is totally worth
it. Standing on the other side, I am so
grateful for the life it has given me, I fall to my knees and cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I did manage one post during this time, you can read it <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/01/this-week-in-therapy-rip-me-out.html" target="_blank">here (Rip Me Out)</a>.</div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-25616718311281802202015-12-31T16:15:00.000-08:002016-01-02T22:13:57.135-08:00THIS WEEK IN THERAPY - LETTERS FROM HELL - PART II (MANIFESTING OBLIVION)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Continuing the piecing together of my trip to the
Underworld (aka the deepest, darkest places of the psyche), I will go through
the notes I made while in that state and try to elaborate on their meaning and
the feelings I was experiencing at the time. This post deals mostly with the physical
manifestations of hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>***If you are
confused, please read the first part of the series <b><u><a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/03/this-week-in-therapy-letters-from-hell.html" target="_blank">Letters from Hell – Part I (Waking Darkness)</a></u></b>***<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve kept the original bullet notes and then expanded on
the idea below.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i></i></div>
<a name='more'></a><i>- every muscle in
my body aches</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Pretty self-explanatory. It was as if I had been working every muscle
of my body to the max and finally sat down for a rest and each of them exacted
revenge. I felt muscles I didn’t even
know I had. Any type of movement was
painful. I felt 100 years old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- food poisoning or
lack of appetite</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I couldn’t eat anything.
Food made me want to vomit or sometimes actually made me vomit. I couldn’t keep anything down for long.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- food is gross</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Along the same lines as above. All tastes were disgusting. I had to force feed myself. Mostly ate soups during this time. Quick, easy and warm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- smells make me
want to vomit</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This was one of the hardest parts. I couldn’t walk anywhere without smelling
things that would set off my gag reflex.
It was like I was smelling the world for the first time and it was
gross.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- I can feel my
organs functioning and moving</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One of the trippy parts of the process. I sometimes still can feel this, but it was
almost surreal. I could feel everything
working; food digesting, heart beating, lungs taking in air, intestines, liver,
bladder, etc. Every little thing they
did, I could feel it. It was like I could
track everything entering my body through its journey out again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- massage has made
the aches worse</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If your body stores toxins over time, then these massages
were like bombs going off in my body. I
was already feeling everything at a heightened level, so massages were extra intense. My body was finally letting go of all the
negative energy I had stored for my entire life. It was AWFUL!!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- constant bathing
in what now is a broth of various minerals – stewing myself</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A combination of Epsom Salts (2 cups) and baking soda
(1/2 cup) was my recipe for a toxin sucking bath. I basically took one of these baths 1-2 times
per day for about 1-2 hours each. The
very first time I did I nearly had a panic attack. I could feel the toxins being purged from my
body. It was overwhelming. I was terrified. It was like being attacked. I had held so tightly to them, they had become
part of my genetic make-up and now they were escaping. I was crying, hyperventilating and
shaking. I had to focus really hard to
talk myself down. I had to keep
repeating “it’s okay, let it go” over and over.
I had to surrender. Eventually,
it felt good, but that first time, it was so scary. I could barely take it. I almost jumped right out of the tub. Lots of weird revelations happened in the
tub. It was the only place I could
breathe properly. I think the baths were
the main thing that got me through this time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- so tired! Everything is too much</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Well, the baths and naps.
I slept ALL the time. Pretty much
if I didn’t have to be awake, I wasn’t… or was in the bath. I barely ate, but I barely moved, so I
figured it was all good. I would sleep
between 14-16 hours a night and take 2 hour naps whenever possible. I didn’t see anyone. I barely talked to anyone. I would have felt bad, if I wasn’t overwhelmed
by emotion in every waking moment. I
didn’t have the capacity to give a single fuck about what anyone else thought. Life was just the time between sleep. And boy, did I ever sleep hard!! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Having distance from this time, it has been great to be
reminded of the lessons I learned. I
never thought it was possible, but I sometimes miss the absolute lack of caring
what anyone else in the world thought about me.
It was such a unique state of being.
Just the ability to feel every emotion, so intensely, so
consistently. It was amazing. Though, memories are always coloured by time. I also remember going to group therapy and
trying to convince everyone to quit while they were ahead because it was too
much to experience. I never thought it
would end. I knew it would, but I didn’t
have the energy to care either way. It
was all encompassing. I didn’t care whether
I lived or died. Death didn’t offer the
sweet release I once thought it would. I
remember breaking down sobbing naked on my bathroom floor after a bath because I
realized that even suicide wouldn’t free me from these feelings. They were ingrained in my very being and
death would mean that that energy was just transferred to my next state and I
would have to deal with it then. The
only option left was to keep going through, until… until whatever was, was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
Stay tuned for Part III…<br />
(UPDATE: <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/12/this-week-in-therapy-letters-from-hell_31.html">Part III can be found here</a>.)<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">(As a prelude, check out </span><a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/01/this-week-in-therapy-rip-me-out.html" style="background-color: white; color: #771000; font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">Rip Me Out</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-15823730198065683402015-12-29T06:58:00.002-08:002015-12-29T07:05:57.231-08:00CANCER OF THE SOUL - SYMPTOM VS. DISEASE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s odd now to talk about it. Even through my therapy process, we rarely
discussed it. I hid it from
everyone. Not intentionally, it just
never really came up. No one ever asked,
“AJ, are you an alcoholic?” Everyone
knew I could drink most people under the table.
It was just who I was. No one
looked twice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For many years, I was what I call a “functioning
alcoholic”. I tried not to drink before
going to work, but at any other point in time, you could be assured, I was
drinking. I used to tell myself, “as
long as it doesn’t affect your job, you’re safe.” The truth was, I wasn’t. I was drowning my emotions in a sea of
booze. I always dreaded the forms at a
doctor’s office. They looked like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Alcohol consumption
per week: 0-1drink ____ 1-2 drinks____
3-4 drinks____ 5+drinks____<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Well, I would laugh.
The answer was always 5+, but that was more accurately per day than per
week (though technically still not a lie).
I would think, ‘are there really people who have less than 5 drinks per
week??’ I tried once to calculate the amount of drinks I had in a given day and
reached 10, but then I remembered that I had 2 glasses of wine for lunch and
half a bottle of champagne for breakfast (it was a day off), plus the two shots
I took before leaving the house. It was
staggering that I couldn’t even recall the amount I had consumed in a given
day, let alone a week. Weekly
consumption needed to be counted in bottles and cases. This also does not include the pot I smoked
daily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking back, I didn’t feel anything for years. Every part of me was numbed by drugs or
alcohol whenever I could. I was a
harmless drunk, if anything, I was a very loving drunk. When I was really on the sauce, you could be
sure there were more than few drunk dials of love. Fortunately, they were mostly to my
sister. No one worries about the happy
drunk – everything seems fine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Recently, I mean very recently, maybe two months or so, I
have nearly stopped drinking. Not
intentionally. There was no specific
event that spurred me to quit or even cut back.
I think I have been the person most shocked by it. I just don’t really drink anymore. I will have the occasional beverage, but now,
I fit into a box on the doctor’s forms.
I may have a drink every 3-4 days in a social setting, but that’s
all. I go WHOLE DAYS without drinking. For someone who consumed 7-15 drinks per day
on average and thought nothing of consuming 20+ drinks on a day off, that’s
HUGE!!! I told my therapist that I
couldn’t remember the last time I had a drink, I was so proud. Granted, it was within the last week, but it
was days before, not hours.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The other major change was, I no longer WANTED a
drink. Drinking had become reflexive. It was part of my routine. I would count down the days until I could get
“day drunk”. One morning, it dawned on
me that it was the first day in weeks that I had the opportunity to drink with
breakfast, so I threw a small bottle of champagne in the freezer (I had already
stopped drinking as much and didn’t think I could handle a full bottle on my
own). I was shocked when three days
later, I found the bottle still in the freezer.
I forgot about it. I forgot to
get day drunk! That was when I was truly
floored. I have never “forgot” to drink
in my life. How was that even possible?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was possible because I didn’t need it anymore. I was alive and present in my life now. There was nothing to numb. It didn’t work anyhow. I imbibed a bit at a big work party and all
the alcohol did was heighten everything I was feeling… which was everything! It was trippy in a really uncomfortable
way. I didn’t like it. I didn’t need it. Life had become trippy enough without
it. I’m happy. I like my feelings. I even like the pain because it reminds me
I’m alive. I love feeling. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To my surprise, I’ve attended a number of social
functions sober recently (or maybe I will have one drink and nurse it through
the night). For someone with huge social
anxiety, alcohol was always my friendly crutch to make me more open and
charming. Not anymore. I don’t worry about what people will think of
me. It is amazing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At this point, you may be thinking, what is this miracle
that cured your alcoholism?! But that’s
where I will say, nothing. I didn’t cure
my alcoholism. Alcoholism was a symptom
of a greater disease that tormented my soul.
A dark mass had taken root on my soul and by turning a blind eye, I
allowed it to fester and grow. It
manifested itself in alcoholism, drug abuse and eating disorders. It was a cancer and those were the symptoms.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Through my therapeutic process, my therapist and I faced
the blackness and piece by piece excised it.
Much like with physical cancers, once the mass was removed, the symptoms
disappeared as well. It feels like a
miracle to me. I didn’t have to cut it
out or consciously reduce my use of anything.
It just went away. I can still go
out and enjoy a drink or two with friends, I don’t need to quit anything, it
simply no longer has control over me.
The addiction is gone. I actually
prefer not to have my mood altered. I
like feeling and experiencing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m not saying that therapy is a cure for all life’s
problems, but before treating symptoms, you might want to look at the
cause. I never really asked myself “why
do I drink or smoke?” ‘It makes me feel better’ would have been the
answer. ‘Or I just don’t want to feel’,
might be more accurate. The pain was too
much. The pain I carried around every
day. It ate away at me and I wanted to
kill it. Drugs and alcohol were a quick
and easy way to do it fast, but they only masked it. The pain was still living underneath,
growing. Therapy has solved that. I’m definitely not saying it was easy. It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever
had to do. Quitting drinking would have
likely been easier, but the pain would have still eaten away at me. It wouldn’t have solved anything. Therapy has actually solved things. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Like with many cancer treatments, there was some cutting
open wounds to excise the black parts.
Lots of vomiting induced by the stuff meant to prevent the cancer from
returning. Many highs, lots of
lows. Weakened states of being. Much bedrest, warm baths and hot food to help
regain strength. Baby steps and giving
your body the space to heal. That was
therapy. It was awful, unrelenting and
brutal. And now I’m happy. Real happy.
So happy and full of love it hurts.
But a good hurt. An alive hurt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I still feel pain.
I still get afraid, but it doesn’t consume me the way it did. It doesn’t dictate my life and
decisions. It serves as a guide, like it
is supposed to. If I fear it, I know
there is something there I need to face.
Something I don’t want to look at – so I look at it. I see what is holding me back. Fear is now like the seeing-eye dog through
the darkness of my soul. It takes me to
the places I wouldn’t see otherwise. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I know that sometimes it is essential to deal with the
symptom first, but I would encourage you not to stop there. Look for the cause. Find what darkness you are hiding from and
bring it light. It is hard. It is scary and you may think it will kill
you, but I promise, it is worth it. It
is worth it to feel alive. To be
contented. To be present. It is worth it.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-37962400696395260862015-11-22T19:23:00.004-08:002015-11-22T19:24:33.207-08:00THIS WEEK IN THERAPY - FINAL EXAM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, I’m going to be graduating my group therapy in a
couple weeks, which basically means that I have reached a point where I have
worked through enough of my process that I can function in the world without
the containment of the therapy group (aka I’m healed… mostly…). This weekend was my final therapy intensive
and, boy, was it intense!! It feels like
in order to graduate, the universe needs to administer a final exam to see if I
pass. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Over the nearly two years I have been in group therapy
(and nearly four years in individual therapy), I have tackled some pretty heavy
topics: abuse, neglect, bullying, conditional parental love, death of the absent
father, and sexuality, just to name a few.
One major issue that has plagued me is seeking affection from the
unavailable man. That stuck around the
longest. Seeking love where it was
unavailable has pretty much been my M.O. for my entire life. I’m still working it out, but in the past
year (minus a few months), I’ve been pretty good at putting myself first (or at
least stopping myself early in the chase stages). I have never felt more powerful or in control
of my own life. Every day is brimming
with excitement and opportunity. I have
said “fuck it” to “chasing” after a mate.
My theme song of the weekend was “Holding Out for a Hero” by Bonnie
Tyler. Either a man meets me or I’m not
interested. I’ve had this conversation
with many people and the common opinion is that I’m searching for a unicorn,
and guess what, I am. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then comes my final exam…</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The unavailable male met me – BIG TIME!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
World shattered.
What the hell do I do with that??!!!
Now I’m forced to be exposed and vulnerable. It was all well and good to challenge a man
to meet me when I knew he wouldn’t, but now that he has, it’s like I have to
make that challenge while naked. It
hurts. It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s overwhelming. It’s my final test.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This whole self-healing thing is a shit ton of work. Just when you think you’re good, you catch a
right hook to the jaw and are knocked over again. The sign of healing is how hard you let the
blow land and how well you recover. This
weekend I took a serious blow. It feels
like it totally exploded my insides to smithereens. What do you do when what you’ve been asking for
finally appears? When a person calls
your bluff and says all in, do you take the bet? Do you risk it all? Trust that you still have an ace in your back
pocket and even if you lose, you win because no one is ever going to have the
power to take all you’ve got again? Can
you take the hit? You know how to lean
into the punch now, but will you be able to get back up if this punch lands? Sorry about the mixed metaphors, but my brain
has erupted into chaos.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this anymore, except to
let it all out. At the heart of the
matter, I’m being called to sit back and continue to trust the universe, even
when my heart is on the line and I’m having a really hard time with that. It’s all well and good when I’m in my therapy
group, surrounded by people I love, but after, when I’m sitting with myself in
my apartment alone, I can hear all the voices in my head panicking, screaming “Mayday,
Mayday” over and over again. I keep
trying to figure out what is going to happen next. I try to plan ways to keep myself protected,
when the real horror of it all is that if I want to be met, wholly and truly, I
need to stand naked (emotionally, but let’s not fully rule out the possibility of
physically at some point) just as firmly as ever. I need to listen to what I need and speak it
clearly. I need to trust that anything
worth keeping will hear me and honour those needs. I also need to be ready to do the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There is no easy way to pass this final test (I don’t
know why I assumed there would be as if anything else during this process had
been a happy fun-time cakewalk). I’m
sitting in it. I’m breathing through
it. I’m letting it pulse through
me. I’m crying when I need to. I’m speaking when I need to. And I’m writing so that others can bear
witness to my exposure. It would be
easier to actually be naked bleeding on the computer screen. Fuck, therapy sucks!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-68526749587798421832015-09-14T01:43:00.003-07:002015-12-29T07:06:36.529-08:00OUR LAST GOOD DAY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are times I wish I had pictures of our last good
day. It’s nothing particularly
special. It was nothing worthy of
capturing on document for eternity, but in my mind, it is imprinted – forever. When I think about him, these are the moments
I go to. The countless pictures on file
tell a shell of a story, but all the moments I wish I could replay live only in
my memory. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Our last good day, we locked the door to our house only
to open it late at night for the sushi delivery man. We smoked weed and drank beer and played some
Wario game that reminded me of Mario Party, but I had never played Mario Party,
so maybe Mario Party reminded me of whatever this Wario game was. Maybe that’s the reason I ended up loving
Mario Party so much; it always reminded me of our last really good day. We did nothing. We didn’t exist in the world. Our world was the walls of our apartment and
nothing could come in and we had no desire to go out. We laughed.
It was just us. Nothing could
touch us. We laughed and were weird and
silly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This memory came flooding back to me tonight. It hurts more than words can express. Sometimes you think all the pain you can feel
has flowed out of your veins, only to be caught off guard by a sudden flash of
happiness you can barely remember.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I tried many times to recreate moments like this, but it
doesn’t work. They come out of the blue.
So fast that you can barely recognize them until they are done. The only way to preserve them is to live them. That’s why they are usually the nothing
moments. Those moments that don’t really
mean anything until they do. Our last
really great day was a nothing day. It
was a lazy day. It was a day that
neither of us really felt like doing anything much at all. It was a day when I was met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s all a little bit foggy, but I’m pretty sure this day
fell during my great depression. It was
near the end and okay days were hard to find, good days were far between. I did not want to face the world on my best
days. This was a day I felt
understood. I didn’t want to acknowledge
the world existed. I just wanted my
shelter. A refuge from life… and for one
day I was granted it. It was a really
terrific day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes it catches me off guard that the tears still
flow so strong. Mourning is a tricky
process. With the dissolution of any
relationship, there is loss. The tragedy
of love without a flame. Some losses are
easier to bear, but some haunt you long after you think you have left them
behind. Tonight it is the memory of our
last good day. It was really a simple,
simply lacklustre, good ol’ boring, magical, wonderful day. I wish I had a picture.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-75664117618504491762015-07-28T20:00:00.003-07:002015-08-06T14:57:36.687-07:001 YEAR POST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Wow! Today marks
one year post-My Year Without Sex. I
have to say, it hasn’t been too much different. *wink* Well, that’s not
entirely true, it has been incredibly different in many ways and the growth
that has occurred is astounding. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After my year ended, I was eager to get back in the
saddle and see if I still remembered how. *wink* I was rushing again. I wanted to break the sabbatical. Alas, I still had far to go. It has only been recently (within the past
couple weeks) that I have come to realize that I have spent my entire life
chasing love. Looking for someone to love
me. Looking for validation from a
partner. Even after my year, even a year
after my year, I wanted a partner to protect me and tell me everything was
going to be alright. I didn’t fully
realize the extent to which the search for a soulmate penetrated my life until
I started attempting to answer the questions that have been stalking me for the
past year: what do you want? What are you looking for?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The truth is I have been looking for a guardian. A person to shelter me from the big bad
world. Someone who would pick me up when I fall, brush me off and encourage me
to keep going. Well, it turns out, I
need to be that for myself. Gah! This became most apparent when I tried to
figure out why I don’t write even though I have been saying I want to be a
writer for over a decade now. I start
and then stop. It dawned on me that I
usually stop the moment it starts to go well – weird, I know. But that’s also not fully the truth. I stop when I get rejected, as well. I really stop whenever anyone takes any
notice at all. I write, but I’m afraid
to show it to anyone. That’s the real
truth of the matter. I’m afraid to be
exposed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It wasn’t until January of this year that I shared the
link to this blog with the majority of people I know – crazy, huh?! Six months AFTER my year is over, I share the
link to the blog. Why? Because, what if it sucked and people laughed
at me?! Yup. I was scared of being vulnerable. Scared to show my scars to the world. Scared that people would think I was
silly. Scared that maybe they wouldn’t. Scared that maybe they would expect some sort
of greatness that I couldn’t provide. Scared that they wouldn’t like the honest
me. But, who cares?! I spent my life
worrying about pleasing other people and still I am alone, but the more I open,
the more people open themselves to me.
Connections are made. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, now my challenge is to be open. Be vulnerable. Ironically, that was also my greatest
challenge in theatre school. Well, 10
years later, I’m finally figuring out how to address it. Yeesh! Yet up to now,
I didn’t know how to start. So, I’m
writing. And I’m sharing. And I’m vomiting. But mostly writing and sharing. I guess it is just like anything in life, you
need to practice to become good at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Finally, I would like to state that even though I set out
to write an update about boys, it quickly turned into a post about my personal development. This continues to be a nice change from two
years ago, where my entire focus was on getting the man, analyzing the man and obsessing
over the man. Now, even typing those
words, I could feel the tension collecting in my shoulders, my breathing
getting tighter and the stress level rising.
Our bodies are such good registers of what is right and wrong in our
lives. I am so thankful that I have
taken the time to train myself to listen to it.
I am still a novice, but I am becoming better and better at grounding
myself when I feel I’m starting to get caught up in nervous energy that is not
my own. Life is so much more peaceful
these days.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-50016135356161110532015-07-26T22:05:00.001-07:002015-08-06T15:06:50.889-07:00WEEK #104 - NOMAD IS AN ISLAND<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I walked home this evening, I passed row upon row of
houses. I peered in the windows wondering
about the lives of the people who live in each.
The large bench-coathook-armoire in the mud room where guests and family
put on and off their shoes, umbrellas tucked neatly to one side. The cat staring out a window. The lights that flicked off just as they drew
my attention. Gardens, meticulously
cared for. A basketball net pulled off
the drive. Flat panel TV screens
flashing sports highlights, spilling the only light in a tidy well-decorated
living room. The corner shelves in the
kitchen, collecting dust from lack of use… or not. What are these stories? Who are these families? How long have they lived there?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Living pretty close to a nomadic life, I pondered what it
would be like to have roots in a house like any of these. What are the choices that brought those
people to them? Were they inherited? Did
their parents help them out? Did they
find amazing well-paying jobs when they were young? Have they lived there for 40 years and are
now retired?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It dawned on me as I passed that I was a voyeur into a
life I won’t have. As I got back to my
new/not-so-new apartment, I pet the cat, then striped down to my underwear
because it was so humid and considered if/when to get a small air conditioner
unit (at least for the cat’s sake) and how to get the air to flow to my bedroom
at the other side of the not so small unit.
I have barely lived here since I moved in at the start of May and won’t
until the winter, but it might be worth the cost for the two weeks I’m “home”. I bet all those houses I passed have central
air. Though, for an apartment I live in
only half the year, how much do I really want to invest? Also, what do I really need in my home? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Previously, my apartment was my sanctuary. It was my holy retreat from the world that
was always so unkind. I could hide and
recharge, but now I’m not sure I need to be as explicitly holed away. The more I have become grounded, the less
essential roots become. My home is
wherever I am, for my home is my body… and my cat. There is a giant world out there and I want
to experience it. All our decisions come
at a cost. Today, I walked through my
cost. A steady job with a husband, kids,
garage, garden, fireplace, house, yard, cat in the window, porch, motion
sensitive lights – it all seems like a fantasy of another domain, distant and
obscure. I am happy with my life, but
when everything that surrounds you seems like part of a world you don’t belong
to, it gives you pause. I watch friends get
married, have babies, buy houses, cars, lawnmowers, hedge trimmers, roofs,
divorces. Then you face the ever present
comments “When it’s your turn…”, like there is some rite of passage that you’re
waiting in line to receive. Party
conversations have pretty much turned into talk about a new baby, the old baby,
an upcoming baby, the new engagement, the upcoming wedding or why hasn’t this
couple got engaged/married/pregnant/pregnant again and speculation or hints
about when it will happen. As the
single, seemingly permanently so, nomad, I find I offer the respite
conversation for most people, asking about pretty much anything else (mostly, I’m
curious about what everyone’s zombie apocalypse plans are). It is so bizarre
and also lonely.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think one of the biggest things I’ve had to come to
terms with over the past couple years is that we really have very little
control over our lives. We live as part
of a bigger fabric and only represent a single strand. We have little say over how life
unravels. My life is pretty
spectacular. I’m quite happy with the
things I get to do, but as I sit in my underwear drinking Jack and Pepsi at
12:30am on a Sunday night before I head back on the road for a week (still
barely unpacked from my last two months and definitely not remotely packed for
tomorrow), I wonder, what lies ahead? The
house with roots seems so much more determined.
The path looks clear. I know that
every life is presented with struggles, but there is something fixed about
those rows of painted doors and lit up numbers, potted plants shining under the
porch lights. I have always been one for
the path untaken, but some nights I like to wonder: what are those lives like
under those roofs? But as my favourite
poet, Robert Frost says:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
And both that morning equally lay<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
In leaves no step had trodden black.</div>
</div>
</div>
Oh, I kept the
first for another day!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
Yet knowing how
way leads on to way,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
I doubted if I
should ever come back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Perhaps
there will be a house with dusty spices on corner shelves and attics and lawns
and sprinklers in my future, but for now, the open road calls and I will wander
one onto another until life tempts me to stay.
It’s not a bad life, in fact, it’s pretty great – it just feels lonely
at times because you pass so few travelers going your way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I’ll leave
you with the rest of the poem by Frost – <i>The
Road Not Taken</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>And sorry I could not travel both<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>And be one traveler, long I stood<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>And looked down one as far as I could<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>To where it bent in the undergrowth;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Then took the other, as just as fair,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>And having perhaps the better claim,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Because it was grassy and wanted wear;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Though as for that the passing there<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Had worn them really about the same,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>And both that morning equally lay<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>In leaves no step had trodden black.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Oh, I kept the first for another day!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Yet knowing how way leads on to way,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I doubted if I should ever come back.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I shall be telling this with a sigh<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Somewhere ages and ages hence:<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I took the one less traveled by,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<i>And that has made all the difference.</i></div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-54317457357403801692015-06-23T13:07:00.004-07:002015-09-16T07:35:46.649-07:00TMI MOMENT #5 - MEASURING UP<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, it has been a while since checking in. Lots has happened, but right now I would like
to address the issues currently floating through my head and that is “bikini
season”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It has been about 9 months since I last weighed myself
and for the most part I have let go of a lot of my body image issues. The winter helped because sweaters are great
hiders of folds that never used to exist.
I have been super proud of myself.
It has also been well over a year since I’ve thought about slipping back
into my old ways of eating disorders to lose weight (even though I am the
heaviest I have ever been – which I know is still not that heavy, but eating
disorders are about self-perception not reality).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But now, it is bikini season. It is bikini season and I am working with a
lot of very fit people out in the country where I live on a beach. It’s the first year that I’ve been so acutely
aware of some of the extra flab I’ve put on.
(As a side note, my journey through hell this winter did not aid my weight
maintenance. I let the weight come as it
may.) I’ve finally reached a point in my
process where I’m able to stay largely grounded and begin to feel inclined to
move my body (I’m loathe to say “exercise”) and eat healthy. My body is no longer my enemy, but summer is.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s a really weird place to be in. I love my body… I love feeling present in my
body, anyway. I like moving. I like feeling things. I like touch.
I like movement and running and jumping and feeling alive. But… I wish I had a little more time to get
used to being active (and maybe shed a couple pounds) before I had to expose it
for all to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Alas, the universe is not one to let me off the hook that
easy. It is forcing me to be vulnerable
for the world to see. I am so
self-conscious of my rolls when I’m sitting while wearing clothes, that sitting
in a bikini is nearly incapacitating.
Though I know that this is all part of the challenge of really coming to
love myself. In the end, any worry is
just about what other people will think of me – their judgments, which should
not play into what I think of myself. It
took long enough to become comfortable in my own skin. Who knows how long it will take for me to be
comfortable with my own skin exposed to the world?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The silly thing is that most people are just as
self-conscious of their own insecurities as I am of mine and likely spend more
time worrying about being exposed themselves than even noticing that I may have
some rolls that I’m not okay with. I’ve
spent a lot of time thinking lately about where the root of these insecurities
lay. The need to fit in is so strong,
especially in large groups. Everyone
wants to be loved and accepted, but also fears that they will be left out. I have spent my life as a chameleon, changing my colours to fit the situation. I was
so good at it, I totally lost any sort of sense of self. I didn’t know who I was without the context
of other people. I was a different
person in any given situation. This
meant completely ignoring the little voice inside that represented who I really
was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have spent the past couple years truly fostering that
little voice and getting to know it. But
the scary thing is that I now need to show that person to the rest of the
world. And that is where fear comes
in. It is scary to expose your true self
to the rest of the world (especially when that true self is not as fit and
tight as it was when it was the fake you).
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, this is my current challenge. I need to find my inner peace with myself as
I stand almost naked next to many thin fit ladies and ripped men. Here’s to natural beauty triumphing over
societal influence. It’s been quite the
battle to get to this point, so what’s another little skirmish to get to the
top, eh? *gulp*<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6648367316129776522.post-90503869911098085532015-03-01T20:01:00.003-08:002016-01-02T22:12:43.572-08:00THIS WEEK IN THERAPY: LETTERS FROM HELL - PART I (WAKING DARKNESS)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was in the bath tonight and saw a white flake floating
in the water. When I examined it, it was
a piece of skin. I released it back into
the water and it settled on my thigh as if it was trying to rejoin my
body. I felt sorry for the little piece
of skin. It used to be part of this
bigger being and has been released into the unknown, to be spewed down the
drain into the ether beyond to live as long as it will before completely
decomposing. I related strongly to the
skin because that sums up how I feel now.
I too used to be part of the great cosmic energy of the universe before
floating in my mother’s womb to be spewed out into this world, left to live as
long as I can before decomposing in the dirt.
I wished I could take the skin back and reaffix it to my body so that it
could be part of that which it was, but much like the universe, I was helpless
to do anything but let it continue on its journey, wherever it may go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So… as you probably guessed, this whole “coming into my body”
thing is still going really well (*sarcasm implied*). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I wish I had enough energy to finish this post when I was
actually still in this state, but I made some notes and I’ll do my best to fill
in the blanks, but at the time, things were the darkest of black and I couldn’t
– for the most part there aren’t even really words to describe the experience
of travelling through the underworld of the psyche (I’ve tried). So far, only my therapist (who has traveled
there herself) has really been able to understand – the one note I would like
you to keep in mind while reading is that despite all of this, I am the
happiest I have been in my entire life (which is truth – a future post will
deal with the dichotomy of the soul). Anyway, it has been an extremely
transformative part of the process.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve kept the original bullet notes and then expanded on
the idea below.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- comparing this to
previous depression<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So,
it has been 5 years since my “last depression”.
This term makes me laugh, because there have been so many that it is
hard to determine which one I was talking about, but by “previous depression”,
I’m pretty sure I was referring to the one in 2010 which caused me to implode
my life and set the course for the crazy journey I’ve been on ever since.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m
not sure if I’ve ever really talked about this time in detail on this
blog. When the implosion happened, I had
been unemployed for 10 months, I was at the end of an 8 year relationship with
an emotionally unavailable man and more depressed than I have ever known before
(which was quite impressive because depression was pretty much the closest
friend I had). I would get high as soon
as I woke up (usually around 8am) and stay high until I want to bed (usually
around 4am). I was anorexic, which was a
change from my usual bouts of bulimia – I was determined to starve myself until
my boyfriend noticed that I wasn’t eating (it didn’t work). I would spend between 3-5 hours lying on the
floor of our condo bawling my eyes out each day (while he was at work). I didn’t leave the house. I didn’t get dressed. I had a part-time job working 1-2 shifts a
week, which I would call in sick to most of the time. I wanted to die. I wished for death. I didn’t even have enough energy to kill myself. I stopped existing. It was awful.
It was the closest I’ve ever come to true insanity. I was right at the edge. I could taste it. I could see it. I could feel it – just giving into the
chaos. Wandering the streets screaming
profanities. I get it. (I wrote this
poem during that time: <a href="http://www.artbytheft.com/2012/12/the-abyss.html" target="_blank">The Abyss</a>. To
date it is the scariest thing I have ever written… at least to me.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I
was out with a friend recently and describing what I’m currently going through
and she said “it sounds like depression.”
She is a good friend and I love her for her concern, but I adamantly
explained that “it is NOT depression”, but I don’t think she ever believed
me. The symptoms are very much the same:
sleeping all the time, lethargy, lack of appetite (though I did eat…
begrudgingly), spontaneous emotional reactions, loss of hope, etc. But, I say again, it was NOT depression…
well, not in the way we think of it. I
am well-versed in depression. But, I spent a lot of time thinking about
it. I was descending, as my therapist
says, I was descending into the underworld of the soul. All those things that we push away and
ignore, the things that lurk in the darkness and haunt our dreams and strike us
when we are least expecting. All those
fears, pains, hurts and anger. That
place where everything that you hide from the light of day is buried. It is kind of a depression, but this was
entering it – conscious and willing… well, conscious anyway, maybe ignorantly
willing. If I had known what hell would
be like, I may not have gone so boldly, or at all – but once there, it kind of
grows on you. The merging of the
conscious and unconscious world is exhausting.
Think of the theory of nuclear fusion and the energy that would be
created by the merging of atoms – that is kind of like what this experience was
like, except that it happened in my body and there was not infinite room for
the energy to expand, so it kind of kicked the shit out of me and it took me a
while to get things back under control.
So, yes, it may have appeared like depression, but I was far from
depressed. I was alive for the first
time in my life. And truly living presently
takes a lot of work – it’s exhausting!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- total loss of
hope<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This
is my favourite one to talk about. I
wrote last year about <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2014/04/killing-hope.html" target="_blank">Killing Hope</a>.
Well, I have now vanquished the enemy!
The weirdest thing about this entire process is the awakening of true
meanings of common words. Despair will
be something I talk about soon, but for now, I’m talking about the complete
lack of hope – which, I know, sounds like depression, but it’s NOT. Hope isn’t all we make it out to be and our
dependence on being hopeful is steering many of us down long dead-end
roads. I need a new word. “Hope” now sounds dirty and tainted in my mouth. Fuck hope! I still think of the future. There are still things that I would like to
see happen in the future… maybe. The
thing is that they are now more ideas, thoughts, fancies. If they happen, great! If they don’t happen, they weren’t meant for
me. Instead of trying to drive my life
towards this imaginary future I have created in my mind, I’m strolling with the
universe and living the life I have right now.
I don’t hope for anything else.
Now is enough. I have spent most
of my life attempting to create what I thought I wanted, but it wasn’t until I
became overwhelmed by “what should be” that I could even begin to see that I
hadn’t paid any attention to “what is”.
Now, I don’t stress. What is,
is. What will be, will be (I have yet to
be successful at changing what life has in store and it takes too much energy to
try!) Now, I let life wash over me,
greeting each wave and what it brings with open excitement. Sure, I could hope, but why spend my energy
on something that may never be, when I can be dancing with what is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>- suicide doesn’t
even sound like an alternate option<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This
is a big one for me! Ever since I can
remember, I have thought about killing myself.
It likely really started around grade 7 or 8. It got really bad when I was around 16 years
old. I would walk home through bad
neighbourhoods hoping to get kidnapped and/or killed. I would stand on a bridge over the 12-Mile
Creek in St. Catharines and understand why they had the anti-jumper netting and
plot what I would have to do to get around it so I would land in the water… or
on the road for dramatic impact. I never
actually attempted suicide. I was raised
really Christian and the one thing that stood out for me was the idea that you
went hell if you killed yourself and if there was any chance that there was a
place worse than this life, I wasn’t going to risk it – hence wanting to be
murdered. Murder doesn’t send you hell
(according to Roman Catholic terms). I
used to know every way in the house that I could kill myself. I wouldn’t act, but I would think about it –
long and deeply. I knew how to go
dramatically, painlessly, quickly, etc.
Strange ways that you would never think of – it made me feel better,
knowing there was an escape plan; a way out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My
ideas have since changed and ironically, it was descending into a “hell state”
that has relieved me of all suicidal thoughts.
It struck me one day, while sitting on my washroom floor, not even
enough energy to dress myself, tears streaming down my face, that even death
seemed futile. Then I laughed and cried
so hard I didn’t know what was happening.
It was so sad that even the thought of killing myself didn’t give me the
sweet solace that it once did, but it was also amazing that for the first time,
the FIRST TIME, in 20 years, I truly didn’t want to die… but that also meant I
had to learn how to live. Death no
longer offered the escape I once believed.
Basically, whatever energy we leave this body with, is the energy that
gets transferred back into the Earth and whatever comes after that builds on
that energy. Death is not release, it’s
just a change from one form to another. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Anyhoo,
I’m happy to report that I have not found any solace in thinking about suicide
in 2015, which is truly mind-blowing.
Not even a thought of jumping in front of a subway train (even though I
would never do it, I used to think it, which is almost just as bad).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
This is now becoming long, so I will end here for now. Part
II is coming… stay tuned!<br />
(UPDATE: <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/12/this-week-in-therapy-letters-from-hell.html">Part II can be found here</a>.)<br />
(As a prelude, check out <a href="http://www.myyearwithoutsex.ca/2015/01/this-week-in-therapy-rip-me-out.html">Rip Me Out</a>)<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Art Thiefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11637453990589084555noreply@blogger.com0