Cruel Words was painted by several of us. What strikes me is how affected I was by the suicide of the CNA’s friend.
In the drawing there are heads blown off the people in the trees. That’s a first for drawings and hopefully the last. I know the kids inside were very affected by the suicide. Having her cry in our arms that way was very heavy.
I fired my regular CNA who had cruel words for me. Anxiety is already high for us, we don’t need to worry about the mouth of our CNA and what she will say that’ll hurt.
The grumpy CNA is pregnant with three weeks left. It is entirely possible that her change of attitude is purely hormonal, however, the irritability and weariness she caused couldn’t be tolerated. It is also true that I can’t justify asking an 8 month pregnant woman to lift my wheelchair and take me to the doctor. I feel horrible asking her to do my laundry or run the sweeper. The girl is tired and irritable! Dang!!!
I like her but the change in her isn’t safe for my personal issues, ya know? I talked to her about why I fired her and she said she knows she’s hormonal and understands. I even told her it’s about time to take maternity leave because she can’t be at my house when her water breaks. lol. I can’t handle that. I don’t know nothin about birthin no babies.
Firing my CNA was the right thing to do. I was walking on eggshells in my own home and that can’t be. So, on to the next chapter in the CNA Saga.
The art piece was created in watercolor and is 7.5 x 10 inches on 98 lb paper.
My neighbor has Schizophrenia. A different neighbor says it’s not a mental illness but that he has demons. She inaccurately applied Scripture, which I quickly corrected, but its still on my mind and still bothers me.
She has no idea what comments like that do to a person with a mental illness. Though I corrected her, its not my job nor is it my desire to be the grand educator. I don’t want to sit down the ignorant and set them straight, I just want to fight my battle without their words spinning in my universe.
When she said he has demons I thought to myself, she should never find out that I have Multiple Personality Disorder! That for sure would make her think I have Legions of demons in me.
When younger my mother used to tell me that my demons were upsetting her. My mother knew I had DID when I was at least a young teenager. She knew Morton by name and called him a demon. She said I’m possessed because of being a bad person. That too has stayed with me. I fight with the thought, that I’m a bad person, but I no longer fight the fear of having demons. My mother’s reason for saying it wasn’t ignorant beliefs it was cruelty and abuse. My sister knew I had others, too. She used to call out a young one to play. I don’t know if she still remembers that or not.
You know, I got to thinking, mental illness isn’t for the weak or ignorant. A person with a mental illness has to be one of the strongest people around because we have to fight tooth and nail just to keep our head above water. Then you add life events with it and you’ve got yourself one serious storm. We are not weak for having a mental illness, not even close.
The drawings included were created in the last few days as a way to survive myself.
Today is one of those days where I feel the weight of what happened in the hospital. I feel shocked, stunned, grieved. I can only describe it as a train wreck where I can still hear the sound of metal crumbling around me. What I feel today must be what I was feeling when I drew and painted in this image with the caption: There’s more to do. I’m not strong enough.
We went over the image in therapy and talked about the butterflies included and how they symbolize transformation. Also significant is the green under the eyes which I used to stand for goals of growth and keeping focused on them. Despite that focus there’s dissociation (figures in the tree) to fight as well as feelings of trauma and grief symbolized by the hanging figure between the eyes. Hanging on is my main focus. It’s what’s between my eyes. No matter what, just hang on. That’s what I think the girl in the middle is doing.Â
I look at the color of the dress of the girl hanging on and realize it ‘should be’ a shade of red, however, it is orange paint that drips into red. In my art therapy pieces, orange symbolizes ambiguity, mixed emotions, indecision. Then of course there’s the spiral in the throat. I started that about a year ago when it became very difficult for me to verbalize my feelings. As if through a hole in my neck, the words escaped me.
Recently I’ve felt like an idiot trying to talk, so I just didn’t. I didn’t email or write on this blog for a number of days (never a good thing for me). I just got quiet. Today I feel better equipped to put two words together but I also feel worn thin by it all.Â
Tomorrow is another much needed therapy session. Like every Monday, it’s over the phone. However, I’ll be going in to his office every other Friday to see him. In the Friday sessions, Michelle will get dedicated time where she’ll talk about her own art and issues. The goal is for her to do some healing, too.
In therapy we talked about the unfinished image “Both of Us”, drawn by Robert over a two day period. We spent a lot of time on it because it drew us into a discussion about being co-conscious and more integrated. My emotions are more integrated and more identifiable.
I showed him 4 drawings total. Three of the drawings were done by Robert. When Robert draws himself in work, it is important to him for Dr. D to see the image of Robert. He doesn’t want to be overlooked or looked through. To be ignored and overlooked is painful for anyone.
We talked about the colors and why I use certain colors. We talked about how different it is that Robert used yellow on the face in his drawing. We don’t do yellow at all. Hate yellow. Of course he asked why and I just told him. My mother’s mattress had yellow flowers on it. There were too many times I had my face buried in that yellow and that’s all I could see. I hate that color to touch me now. I use it in art to mean negative things. For it to touch his face tells me there’s some sort of guilt or maybe flashbacks that he is dealing with. Yellow in art is explained on my art therapy page. It’s also interesting that the pants worn by the girl in the upper left corner is wearing yellow pants. This just doesn’t happen, not even in art.
The image to the side was drawn by Michelle in pencil. Dr. D noted that the people are in typical fashion from what I used to draw. He says the people have a look of despair and trauma on their faces. It’s funny, I don’t set out to make my images look this way. I just start drawing what I feel. I think its the same for others inside. Everyone just draws what they feel. The painting or coloring in is according to our color chart that we’ve had for who knows how long.
We discussed how it feels to have a 12 year old alter around who doesn’t want to be called anything but her own name and doesn’t want to be mistaken for Faith.
Dr. D called Michelle the last hold out, then laughed. Yeah. Everyone else is on board with knowing and understanding what it means to have DID. We know how we got here and why we have DID but this one kid ain’t havin’ it. She can’t accept that she is not separate. She hasn’t yet learned that what she does affects the rest of us and what we do affects her. We’re a system….. We take care of each other.
She wants her own sketchbook but we won’t let her do it. She draws and paints in the community book just like everyone else.
There’s guilt associated with ‘causing’ us to feel anxious whenever she’s around. Her anxiety is always very, very high.
Speaking of high, Dr. D and I discussed differences in artwork when I’m high. He asked if there’s a difference in noise level in my head when I’m high. Yes. I can hear the alter personalities clearer so it feels louder at times with pot, but there’s also a calm that covers us all. It works out well if I eat it. I had it in hot chocolate the other day. Turns out that homemade honey cake with weed is pretty good. That one was new for me.
Last but not least, Michelle got her snails in the mail today. How totally cool is that! All the way from Greece! She keeps saying, I would have been happy even if they’d been from across the street but no one had snails that they were selling locally. I think it’s totally cool that they’re from Greece. It just sort of happened that way and I’m glad it did.
I’ve been finishing work in my books. I set a goal this year to finish work I started but there was an interruption that put me behind. I decided after I got out of the hospital to pick up where I left off with finishing work. Here is one of the key pieces I wanted to work on. It’s a story line about my aunt’s life and the affect she had on mine.
My physical wounds have healed faster than emotional wounds. There’s a real fear that time will pass, I’ll ‘look better’, and people will forget that on the inside I’m still struggling.
When all this first happened and for the entire 5 months, friends leaped to my assistance. I had more visitors than I knew what to do with. 🙂 I felt loved. Now that things are going back to my version of normal with Lupus, I fear being left and yet I know the fear is unfounded. My friends love me and I know it, and I know that they were there for me before all this happened. But there’s this fear that all the love and attention is going to stop, and I’ll fade right into the background and be forgotten. I like the feeling of being loved. It’s not entirely new but its new enough that with a taste of it I don’t want to let it go. Continue reading “Don’t Forget Me”
I can’t seem to get myself to truly paint. It’s as if I’m stopped up. All I seem capable of is painting shapes and simple figures or dripping paint down a page. I keep doing it though.
These are all watercolor and ink on 8.5 x 5.5 paper.
Today is a quiet kind of day. I’m a tad bit on the depressed side. I think the poem is heavier in truth than anticipated. I just starting typing and stopped when I was done.
Monday will be here quickly and it’ll be time for therapy again.
I’m physically tired with very swollen feet. I’ve had them propped up for awhile. It hurts to walk.
I’ve got a few financial concerns but in the end things seems to work out. Every bill is paid in full. The cat has food, Pete has food and Pickle will have more on Tuesday.
I listened to the first 3 min of a video where a person was talking about how well they treated their significant other, but it wasn’t appreciated. I could only bear a few min of it. What got me the most was that she said, I’m not perfect but, you guys know me, ……..” I figure, if a person starts a conversation with, “I’m not perfect but…” then you can be pretty sure they’ve done something they need to apologize for. What she said in those few minutes got me thinking about the way I think and the way I communicate.
My first and most intimate lessons in communication had to do with figuring out what was expected of me from a woman who had a singular agenda that did not include me. My first and most intimate lessons in communication included weaving in and around insults or crafting my statements to avoid being accused of disobedience. My chief instructor, the person responsible for every aspect of my life, was crazy.
I walked thin lines and broke them repeatedly. I’d go over in my head how to do it better, say it better, how to keep from being a disappointment. I was one of those kids that tried all sorts of creative ways to be who she needed to be. I couldn’t figure it out because I was missing one piece of information; her agenda doesn’t include you.
It is clear to me that youth was nothing more than a performance lacking true emotion and conviction.
After taking my freedom, after being in therapy half of my life, I still struggle to show on my face what I’m feeling inside. I use words or I paint to explain myself. I can be suicidal and laugh in the same conversation, but this time I know to tell the person ahead of time that I’ve not broken the conditioning in this area. I have to tell them to listen to what I’m saying, please don’t look at my smiling face.
I paint with my heart and all but bleed on canvas. Painting is a powerful way to release anxiety and thoughts that pound my skull. While art as a whole is therapeutic for me, there are certain pieces that were created specifically as therapy with my psychologist. As I thin out the amount of art in my home, I’d like to make available on a continued basis, some of the art pieces created during my therapy sessions or at a later time.
As I said, art therapy has been one of the most powerful tools in my healing process. I can’t explain to you the relief I feel knowing that some of my abuse memories have lost their sting when I was professionally guided with the tool of art therapy.
