I was nervous, again. Dr. D said it's normal for a person to feel some anxiety when going to a session, even when they've been in treatment a long time. We talked about the Passion Flower tincture I made and how effective it is. I keep forgetting to take it though. I still scribble to ease anxiety.
We talked about the two dreams and what I think they might mean. I told him that the dream where I was on the outside of the car while my mother and sister were inside reminds me of how I usually felt like an outsider in that family. I hated them for what they did and said. I hated secrets, most of all I didn't keep to the rules of Master and servant the way my sister did. After paying severely for running my mouth one would think I'd learn to keep it closed but nope. Sometimes I was annoyed or out right disgusted by their pretense and let it show on my face or I rolled my eyes and said, "Oh please!" I paid for it. I understand that death in dreams isn't always negative. In this case we all three died after recklessness by my mother. Recently the 'death' of hope that my sister and I will ever be anything other than relatives has settled in. That death means life without hoping in ghosts.
Dr D and I talked about reading books and blogs about watercolor painting. The most glaringly obvious truth is that my art style doesn't lend itself to what I've been reading. As exercise and to work on this years art goals, I've worked on proper watercolor technique as well as free expression. I'm a bit frustrated because it is against habit to limit color. I'm generally an edge to edge artist leaving few spaces on the paper. I use a dirty brush and dirty water. When it comes down to it, what I am most comfortable doing and have gotten in the habit of doing is the opposite of the proper use of watercolor media. I'm sitting here with a crooked smile because on one hand I'm okay with that because I'm finding out more and more about myself as an artist. On the other hand I am driven by my frustrations to improve and use restraint.
When I paint I saturate the page with images. All those images, nowhere for the eye to rest, color conflicting with color and layers of nothingness remind me of grasping at straws to appease my mother all while keeping her focus off hurting me. In art I purposely choose too much color, purposely choose loud next to loud. Sometimes my art is so full it reminds me of Where's Waldo. He's in there ... I'm in there....but you're going to have to search to find me.
Robert said he wants to draw the very images in our head without hiding, and he has. The obvious turn our art has taken has been commented on with negativity. Swallowing that was hard but deep inside there was a scream of "You ain't seen nothin' yet." Wait till I roll out more stuff like Snapshot or Waldo on acid! We did not appreciate being told that this new turn in our art is unwelcome. That comment doesn't change anything. I am still working to unload my head of memories and images; more specifically to paint mental illness as it lives in me.
Honesty in art isn't something I do well. I use a lot of symbols that seem benign if not happy, to represent the ugly and unbearable. Recently I've been adding blue under eyes I draw. It appears they've got deep set, tired eyes or maybe bruises but that's not what it means at all. Blue is a power color for me, a symbol of inalienable rights. I started putting it on the eyes of people I draw because the people can see a little clearer that what they were originally told is a lie. Sometimes I can see that I'm not worthless. Sometimes I know I'm not wicked, evil, a disappointment or a liar.
I've split the faces of people I draw more and more because now more than ever I feel less in control of my emotions. I don't hide them as well. I feel more intensely than before and actually show anger and sadness instead of just saying I feel angry or saying I feel sad. The emotionally silent side and the pulsating side will eventually flow with less obstruction, but for now they seem split down the middle.
The more talking, the more feeling, the more unmasking I do, the less I feel worthy of anything good. I know I was lied to but it still feels like that lie is now my truth and so my eyes are out of focus. In some of the art Dr. D and I went over today, all these contradictions piled high and screamed in living color.
There's been no more self harm.
I need to scan art. I've not done that in weeks.