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mud-puddle

I chose to dig deeper in therapy this week and to try and get back to that really vulnerable core of me, my “puddle” that I had come so close to exposing a few weeks ago.

I couldn’t quite do it. I have spent years covering up and getting on with the business of life such that I’ve almost lost the ability to go back. Could I address my father in my voice as a child. No, not really. If I could say one thing to them then, what would it be? It came to me on the way home.

I hate my life.

Even as I said it to myself I was thinking, well that’s not fair, there were plenty of good moments. Plenty of good moments don’t really stack up to a happy childhood.

What did I feel?

I felt unwanted and unloved.

I felt that no one really gave a shit.

I felt uncared for.

I felt ignored, that no one listened to me.

I felt I didn’t matter.

I didn’t feel I belonged, to a place or to people.

People I cared for died, the first one when I was 10 or less and his family didn’t seem that bothered.

Well at least now we know what the work is.

 

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