Breaking Up is Hard to Do

If you've ever been broken up with by the other person saying that they don't think you need to see each other anymore, and that you'll stay in contact and if you ever need them they're just a phone call away, then you know what the end of my therapy session felt like today.

Again, I pose the question, now what?

You Call It Vanity, I Call It Self Preservation.

Today's therapy session was good and bad all at the same time. Turns out I have some irrational fears that actually aren't so irrational (good), and I should practice what I preach (bad). I left a little depressed.

We also covered a topic something completely unrelated to me and my silly fears and anxieties. That topic was...clothes! As a result of this...

I have decided that I need to wear what I'm comfortable in and not worry about how other people judge me (did I say this was unrelated to my anxieties? I may have been incorrect). I am going to wear clothes that make feel good about myself and accessorize accordingly. I always feel best when I take the time to do my hair, makeup and pick a great outfit. If that process takes 2 hours, so be it.

Does any of this seem vain? So sorry. I think that after having every flaw on my body ripped to shreds ("lose the gut," "you need scar cream," "do something with your hair," "I don't want my wife to have a mustache," "take better care of yourself." The list is endless), I'm allowed to take all the time in the world to make myself feel ok again. I've already established that I'd rather hang out with my hair than people. My hair makes me feel good about myself. People don't.*

Considering that I have horrible hair that has split ends, broken pieces everywhere, frizz and ugly curls, that doesn't say much.

Underachieving Overreacter

I made my bed today. I even put the shams and throw pillows on there. Sadly, I am proud of this. It's the little things that make me happy.

It's the little things that make me unhappy as well. Ever say something stupid and stress out about it for hours? Beat yourself up and swear that you'll never speak to that person again because you feel so badly about it? Maybe think of ways you could have someone else apologize for you because you're too embarassed? Replay the scene over and over in your mind and wish you could break the time/space continuum in order to change it?

What kind of histrionic, insecure, irrational and emotionally crippled individual would think all of that about a statement that everyone that was present has probably already forgotten?

You caught me. All it takes is for someone to twitch in the wrong moment and I'd interpret that as the universal signal for, "shut up, I hate you." I haven't covered this in therapy yet.

I had another frustrating morning in front of the closet today.



I think that just about says it all.

Perception.

I was given another painting assignment.

I was asked to put color and form to my feelings of fear and inadequacy in relation to others' perception of me.  In other words, nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I'll go paint it.

Recently I have been afraid of everyone. I'm convinced everyone hates me for some reason or another. Usually this feeling only extends towards strangers; I'm terrified of how others perceive me. That is still the case, but now it's spread to people I know. I'm fairly certain that women at church dislike me, my boss is mad at me, my friends don't like me anymore and my sister will hate me forever. When I go out, I'm so self conscious most of the time I want to hide. I feel stupid and ugly and like people are pointing and laughing.

At this time I would like to point out that I am exercising a great deal of restraint by not saying that these feelings are stupid. I want to say it's stupid to minimize it's importance and brush it off like it's nothing. Here's where I stand up for myself, to myself:

It's not stupid. It is false.

No one is staring and pointing and laughing at me, my boss just has a cold, the women at church probably don't care about me either way and my friends have busy lives. As for my sister...that's another story. But the point is, I can't possibly be the focal point of all of these people's lives, right? Right. The idea that they all hate me is not stupid, it is false.

But...I want to say it's stupid, ridiculous, something. I feel awful for feeling this way. I feel guilty for thinking that other people are thinking negative things about me. Tonight I was asked what it was that I needed from these people. I was also asked what it was that I feared in relation them. I couldn't think of anything I needed from anyone...but I know exactly what I'm afraid of.

I am scared poopless that someone will discover that underneath my smiley, skirted exterior lies a little girl who has failed at most things in life and just wants to hide in the back of the closet until it all goes away.

I guess the jig is up.

Paint and other things that freak me out.

I only had one thing I had to get done today, and that was to buy paint supplies. I accomplished my goal, good for me. It was probably the most stressful 40 minutes I have ever spent in an arts & crafts store. That sounds stupid, because I'm artsy and sometimes crafty, and generally I'm in 7th heaven when I need something from AC More or Michael's. As with everything, there is a back story.

When I was first diagnosed as bipolar (2005), I painted as a coping mechanism. It was a stress release for me. I got great satisfaction out of it, it kept me out of trouble, and it gave me a way to communicate what was going on in my brain. I even got an electric staple gun for Christmas because I was stretching my own canvas over frames the bf made for me out of scrap wood at his job. I painted whatever I wanted, however I wanted, with whatever I wanted, and on whatever I wanted. That's a lot of I's, but the point is, it was my outlet, not anyone else's. I was free to express myself.

As the years passed, I painted less and less. In fact, all of my creative outlets disappeared. I stopped writing and drawing as well. One day early last summer I was asked why I didn't paint anymore. When I said that I didn't know, it was suggested that we go to Michael's, pick up some supplies and give it a go. Of course I agreed. I didn't have much of a choice, really. I didn't really want to, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter that I preferred to paint alone or that I preferred medium bodied acrylic. No, none of that mattered, because like everything else about me, it wasn't mine anymore. I didn't have the right to enjoy things by myself, as an individual.

We came home with oil paint, canvas board and a value pack of brushes. Let it be known that I don't like oil paint, I'd rather paint on actual canvas, and these particular brushes were terrible. I couldn't get the paint to be as thin as I wanted, the brushes were losing bristles left and right, leaving them all over the smeary, sticky thing I was calling a painting. I was so frustrated...I felt stunted. I wasn't allowed to express my emotions, so how was I supposed to paint anything? I'm not the kind of person who can just paint for no reason. No bowls of lemons here. I need a meaning. And when I'm not allowed to have that meaning, I can't create.

In my last therapy session, my therapist asked what colors I would describe my emotions about--well, everything really. All the hurt and the anger at myself for allowing another person to take away my identity and the anger at that person for doing it, and the sadness for the time that I lost...I said they were navy blue, purple and orange. She said she wanted to see what that would look like.

So there I was today, in AC Moore, staring blankly at paints and brushes and canvas, reminding myself that it was ok to buy acrylic and it was ok to not want the value pack of bristle brushes. Flashbacks of that day in Michael's were spinning through my head so fast I didn't know what to do. Eventually I figured it out. I got Liquitex basic acrylic paint, a 12 pack of medium-firm taklon brushes and two 12x16 canvasses. I'm very happy with my purchases. Almost defiantly so. I'm taking back my painting. It's just another piece of me that I can put back where it belongs.

There is a lighter side to my trip to AC Moore. A very nice gentleman and (I'm assuming) his mother asked me a question about the brushes they were holding. I answered them, bade them a good day and moved to the end of the aisle. The gentleman then said that he wanted me to know I was pretty and he liked my outfit. I was wearing my coat though so all he really could see was big blingy earrings, skirt, stockings and flats, but still. It made me smile. Couldn't have come at a better time because I was on bad memory overload.

Ok I'll quit babbling. Sheer grey striped tshirt that says "crash & burn" across the top and a black pattern down one side with a black shirt underneath, a cardigan over top, denim skirt, striped stockings and t-strap flats. Complete with big blingy earrings and matching ring.

Enjoy your evening...I'm beat. I'll probably end up painting...if I do, I'll post a picture.

Early to bed...

...early to rise, right? I hope so! I could really use a good night's rest. As soon as I'm finished here, I'm hitting the sack.

I had a therapy session tonight. It was...insightful. I discovered a few different ways my perfectionism manifests itself and that I'm slightly obsessive-compulsive.  I also discovered that when I am told I must "grieve" over my divorce, it's more about grieving for the loss of over a year of my life and my identity, rather than grieving for little mr. can't be wrong. More on that trainwreck another day.

You know the grey shrug and black/blue/grey skirt I mentioned yesterday? I wore them both today. I didn't feel well this morning and wanted to be comfy so this is what I came up with:

I'm kneeling so you can't see that I'm wearing grey chucks. This would have looked much cuter with boots, but I wasn't in the mood.

I went way low maintenance with the hair and makeup, too. I left my hair curly and just pulled it back into a messy bun. As for my face, some eyeliner and lip gloss and that was it...and the lip gloss wasn't even until I had to leave the house for my 2nd job. Whatever, I tried.