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.