He loves me... he loves me not...

You may recognise the shoes in this photo from a previous post titled 'Happy Little Camper' however I can assure you that what I'm about to write is not of my shoe addiction. Instead, I'm going to explore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps.

Earlier today Patrick and I got caught up in our work and consequently skipped lunch. We were both starving as we were preparing to head out for an appointment, when Patrick raided the fridge in search for some 'fast' food (rare in our household).

He claimed one of my favourite smallgoods produced in the Barossa Valley that we affectionately call a 'bum burner'. This tasty savoury delight is made with natural wood smoke in the authentic German tradition and is in a word, delicious.

I'd be lucky to have had half a dozen bum burners in the last five years, so yesterday I decided to purchase two tasty treats - one for the road trip and one for when we returned home, which did just before midnight last night.

Before I had a chance to ask for a bite, Patrick had eaten the entire thing (it's only about five-bites worth). Thinking that he was playing a joke I said "Come on, I know you wouldn't do that - pass it over here," to which he replied, "I am not joking. I was so hungry I ate it all." Then after a small pause he said, "That was so selfish of me".

It was at that point that a javelin went straight into my heart and I became bombarded by the all too familiar "He doesn't love me" inner dialogue. I was so upset that I instantly felt like drowning myself in a bottle of wine, gorging myself on ten KFC hot wings followed by a cheeseburger, several chocolate bars and three ice creams (one of them would have been a Magnum) all while smoking an entire packet of cigarettes (I still have some from a carton I purchased duty free in Hong Kong in 2007 for such occasions).

As these feelings of rage, rejection and questioning whether being married to Patrick after such an act would be possible, I bit my tongue (metaphorically). I knew something was going on beneath the surface that was causing all these toxic emotions. Feeling like United States of Tara, I kept switching from observer to being in the midst of fury and dejection.

Even now as I type I feel myself switching through opposing emotions. One minute I am a calm, insightful wise woman and the next - a crazed axe murderer (lucky for Pat, we don't have an axe... I wonder if dental floss can do any damage?).

I may not have had such a strong reaction had it been the last apple Patrick took, as we can easily trot to the local shops and buy more... but we are talking about the last BUM BURNER, which we've not had in this particular household since moving here four years ago - nor is it so easy to replace (an 8-hour drive, or $100 return flight to get another one).

Had this not happened today, I may not have been alerted as to how strongly I react when my 'unloved' feelings are triggered. Since starting Project Grace 2010 200 posts ago (yessirree, you read correctly - yesterday marked my 200th post), I found that the number of these episodes have markedly reduced. So much so, that today really took me by surprise.

As soon as the trigger goes off I experience a sequence of feelings starting with sadness and loneliness, followed by rage and fury that rises in my belly. I then have an overwhelming urge to abuse myself with food, alcohol and cigarettes. The yearning is strong, the desire is magnetic.

Is this longing for intoxication born out of the need to numb the pain, say 'f#ck you' to the world or to slowly kill myself? At this stage I don't know, though my guess is that it is probably a combination of all three.

For many years I did not have the strength, will power or self love to resist. Today I did.

I still don't know why I translated Patrick's self-confessed act of selfishness to mean that he doesn't love me, therefore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps continues to remain a mystery. I will, however, keep a close eye on this addiction over coming months.

In the meantime I'm grateful for the insight I have gained- though there are moments when I'd like to be vengeful and get my hands on another bum burner, tie Patrick to a chair and make him watch me eat it one teeny bite at a time. Ah, the power of imagination - I feel better already.

Until tomorrow, be sure to dig deeper if your reactions are bigger than what you're reacting to.

Grace xx

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Rising Star

This blog is dedicated to 'Anonymously Addicted' who, in yesterday's comments, wrote:

"OMG- am I addicted?? Where's yesterdays blog Grace? TALK TO US!!!!!!"

Whilst I had in fact posted a blog the day before, it was, by my own admission, rather insubstantial.

So today I'm making up for it by telling you a story. A word of warning; it's my longest post to date and may require tissues. It's about a 5-year old me, my out-of-control tricycle, bully twin sisters and my Barbie star pendant.

My childhood home was situated at the highest point of a cul-de-sac. The land plateaued in front of our property before making its steep descent to a main road, which connected us to an adjoining court. We (my brothers and I) were not permitted to venture outside our court. It was the law; one I adhered to without ever, intentionally, breaching.

One day I was riding my fixed wheel tricycle, when I started gaining too much speed down the hill. The pedals were spinning faster than my little legs could manage and I remember feeling totally out of control as I accelerated towards the legal boundary.

There was nothing more I could do than to hold on for dear life. My trike arrested once it crossed the border and ascended the hill on the other side (to this day I am thankful a car wasn't travelling on the main road that connected the two courts).

I knew I'd be in trouble for breaking 'the law', but what I didn't anticipate was the trouble I'd be in from landing in enemy territory. The twin sisters from the opposing court were renowned for being bullies, though I'd never known it first hand. That is, not till that fateful day.

The wicked sisters of the west charged towards me, their brother in tow. Before I could retreat to the safety of my turf, I was being restrained by the boy who held my arms behind my back. They each took turns at using me as a punching bag, not to mention scratching me and pulling my hair.

I can still hear my voice crying out loud and desperately shouting at my then 3 year old brother, "Don't just stand there!" but really, what could he do? (I'm so grateful now that they didn't turn on him too).

Then they did the unthinkable.

They grabbed my golden Barbie star pendant, along with the necklace it was attached to, ripped it off my neck and threw it down the street drain.

"Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This hurt more than the punching, the scratching and the humiliation.

That was my favourite piece of jewellery before being acquainted with my next favourite; a bluebird on a silver-plated chain. I had received the gold star as a birthday present with an accompanying Barbie doll (I'm sure the pendant was meant to accompany the doll, though to me that faux-gold star was worth more than the 'perfect plastic woman').

I don't remember much after the beating, other than being left in a heap at the bottom of the street. I was sobbing uncontrollably and attempted to retrieve my beloved Barbie star pendant. But no matter how far I reached, or how hard I tried, I could not get to it. I just looked at it through the concrete gap, crying, and crying... and crying.

Years later I found myself in Kuala Lumpur. It was the day after our 6th wedding anniversary and my husband was out buying bike parts for his impending cycling trip in north India. I on the other hand was heading to south India and preferred doing more girlie things prior to my departure, like browsing for shoes.

Our anniversary gift to each other was a romantic few nights at the Crowne Plaza Hotel overlooking the Petronas Twin Towers, which was just lovely. Only whilst I was out on my shoe expedition, I came across this diamond-studded white gold star (pictured) and thought it an apt encore to the previous night's celebration.

It instantly reminded me of the loved one I lost in that incident, bringing forth a flood of emotions. Instead of running away from the memory and the pain it regurgitated, I wanted to rise above it. And so, in that moment, I did the unprecedented act of buying myself a valuable jewellery item (albeit under the guise of an anniversary present from my husband).

This pendant is my 'rising' star.

It is my daily reminder of how I can overcome obstacles and rise above adversity no matter how big (or old) they are, or I am. It is a reinforcement to me now, and a comfort to the little girl that I grew from.

In times of self-doubt, I hold it. It speaks of my strength and resilience. It prompts me to let go of the past, with a promise that the future will be better. When I catch sight of it in the mirror, I can't help thinking that perhaps there's something else it's trying to tell me... and possibly the reflection I see, is the rising star within me.

Until tomorrow, may you seek what reflects the rising star within you.

Grace xx

ps. As I wrote today's blog, I realised the uncanniness that the reunion between me and my star all took place while I'd been sleeping in the shadows of the world's tallest twin sisters, the Petronas Towers, and my husband was looking for bike related products (quite possibly brake parts) - is that the Twilight Zone theme I hear playing?