In 2002, my life kind of fell apart. I was blindsided by a divorce after 18 and 1/2 years of marriage. Now, this marriage had been in trouble almost from the beginning. But, being Catholic and being stubborn, my husband and I kept plugging away at it hoping that at some point it would get better. Everyone knows it takes two to make things work and you both have to want to etc. Basically I think we tried to stay together for the kids, but in the end we just couldn’t do it anymore. I thought that we were “working” on our marriage when in fact this wasn’t true. My husband decided he could no longer be with me because of my illness, Fibromyalgia. Of course it is way more complicated than that, but that is what he stated to the mediator and the lawyers. To be honest, as hard as it was to go through, the divorce was the best thing that could have happened to me and I suspect he feels the same way. We really were two very different people and we just were not right for each other. That said, with all the stress of it and how it was affecting the kids etc., I ended up severely depressed that fall and had to be hospitalized. I can say with great conviction that this was the lowest point in my life. I was contemplating suicide and knowing that I couldn’t do that to my kids and those I love, I decided it was best to be in a safe environment to sort it all out. Nothing can really prepare you for being on a Psych ward. I was in for depression, but that was only one reason for people to be there. At first I felt very alone and isolated. We had group sessions several times a day, which was somewhat helpful. Mainly I was just waiting for the medications to start working. It can take several weeks for an antidepressant to start working, and we tried several of them until we found one that I seemed to tolerate. The problem with this is that the doctors want you to get better quicker than the meds allow. It was such a difficult time, so many emotions to deal with and not being able to take care of my kids etc. I was at the mercy of the staff, and was not really in control of my life at that moment. This is a scary thing. My ex was kind enough to bring the kids to visit and also to bring things for me to do like books to read etc. His fiancee also sent some watercolors and paper for me and some brushes for me to use while in there. Now, I had always loved watercolors and I had always wanted to learn how to paint. She also sent a “how to” book for me to learn from. This was the beginning of my love affair with watercolor. Hard to believe I have my ex-husbands new wife to thank for this. It just goes to show how connected we all are in this world. Over the next few years I spent many hours a day learning how to paint. I am still learning, it is a constant journey. Painting was my best therapy. I had some pretty bad experiences while in the hospital, but I was able to deal with it because I had something to focus on, something positive. Creating is such a wonderful, positive thing and it has helped me over and over again. It really isn’t the end product that is so important, it is the process of creating it that I have come to love and enjoy. The finished painting is a wonderful gift, but usually is not my main goal. My main goal is to create something beautiful. To express myself with paint and paper and brush. It is truly a magical experience each and every time I sit at my desk or at my easel and paint.