I'm hesitant to publish work like this because of the dark lines and how packed it is, full of images, but it represents my head in an accurate way. It shows the full, always thinking, always moving, nearly manic thought processes inside my head. Why would I hesitate to post that type of truth in art but feel free to do so in words? I don't fear any kind of judgement with words I use. I don't expect anyone to tell me to lighten up or make my words pretty, but I can't seem to forget those who have told me to do that with my art.
Posting it is a way of shutting up the negativity in my head. I like this piece. I like the activity in it. I like the color against the black. I like the twists in it. I like the orange and I like the hidden people at the top, on the left side and at the bottom. I'm posting it and my head can just shut up about it! ...continue reading "See Volumes. Art Confidence."
I've been reading about staying positive which can be difficult for me. One of the things I've been trying to remember is that even with my health issues, I've not lost everything. I made a short list of things I've learned to do while in bed and while pacing at home. The reason I learned these things is that it's difficult to sit. It's painful so I end up lying down or I keep moving while I'm up. Standing still doesn't go well for me but as long as I keep moving I'm okay. So, here is my photo for the 17th of this month and my list of things I can still do:
Complain. I can do that in whatever position I find myself in. I complain in English and American Sign Language. I'm currently learning French, which isn't killing me this time around.
Paint. I can paint and draw while lying down. I've covered my bed so as not to ruin my mattress. It was my greatest concern that I wouldn't be able to paint because of needing to lie down so much.
I can sew while lying down. This was a welcome surprise. I have to be a little more prepared but it is still possible. I just finished and adopted out two dolls and I've started on a custom order doll today.
I can study and take notes in bed or on the sofa as long as I have my tablet and supplies with me. I can read and pace at the same time which I do quite often.
I can produce hand written letters of encouragement to others while in bed. It's important to always reach out.
I can still receive visitors if I'm on the sofa.
I stand while making tea but I have a no spill cup that allows me to drink tea in bed. Yup, gotta have that tea no matter what.
I can enjoy the sunshine on my face from the comfort of my bed. I can see the sky and hear the birds and ducks.
My smile isn't broken because I'm lying down. I still have a sense of humor.
The problem I have with the old GP is that he never saw me. He walked in the room and typed on the computer. He didn't look at me. He asked a few questions, typed some more, wrote on paper, handed it to me and left me sitting in the room alone wondering what on earth just happened.
I use to sit there and cry. He walked out like that and I just started crying. I asked the nurse why? What's wrong? She didn't know. I thought he didn't like me because I'm fat. I thought he had a problem with fat people and that I disgusted him.
Content : Suicide, abuse, held captive Comments and likes are off.
I have to remember the bigger picture. I can't get distracted or tangled in the limbs of one tree and forget the forest.
I'm going to scream. I'm going to drown. I'm going to fall. I want to say I'll never ever become suicidal again but I can't promise that, but I can promise that I will seek help. I will reach out. I will not take my life.
I wish she knew that I understand the feeling of abandonment and confusion. Where do you fit in without our mother? How do you go about your life without her commanding each step? I even wondered if I'd stop breathing if I crossed states lines. Would I just poof and disappear? It was like I'd crossed over the invisible line that kept me alive. The only thing that made sense was that I'd disappear, poof, gone. Sister, I've crossed many state lines and set my own boundaries, never once did I stop living. You can live without our mother's influence.
I recently started reading from a website called What's Your Grief? I need a lot of the articles right now as I struggle with my brother and mother..... I hope every February and March from here on won't hurt this much.
In an article about Sentimentality & Holding Onto Items the writer talked about dolls that her mother purchased each year for her. Being a doll collector my interest was piqued. For me, each doll I collected had some connection to a part of me that was lost to abuse and neglect. I knew on some level that I was trying to regain these things but it took years before I could look at the dolls and say, she has this quality in her dress and facial features that reminds me of this particular moment of loss.
Not everything has gone as planned. Things changed very quickly with accusations flying when I requested 30 pain pills to last 90 days.
Let me start from the beginning. I saw Dr. Yes Wednesday evening. He wanted me to see a pain specialist. I said okay. I called the people Friday morning to talk about an appointment. When she started talking about therapy and injections and another MRI with this and that test I stopped her. I explained that I've been through all that many times with no real results. I said what I really need is a doctor who understands that there are going to be flares I need help getting out of. I said, the steroids, though horrible, do help me but there are also times when my pain level is getting out of control and I need to take the edge off. I said, that's why I'm requesting a script of 30 Vicodin every 90 days. Talking to Dr. Yes's office Friday morning took a nasty turn from there.
Jane remains relatively healthy. She's 15 but she still loves catnip and paper. She is so funny chasing imaginary things. Her favorite toy is a green fish that she got about 2 years ago. She's got a decent amount of toys but I only leave a few out at a time to mix it up and keep her interested in them. The other day I got a box in the mail with a bunch of paper, paper being her favorite thing. She put a thousand holes in it and then nested for a bit. Although Janie has claws, she's not destructive. She doesn't shred the paper or scratch the furniture or anything like that. The paper gets holes in it because she's still got her claws.
I keep hearing a little girl cry. It happens every single time I get extremely triggered. I know she's not really there but I can't help but go looking for her. It takes a lot to resist the urge to go looking for her.
She can't do it. She can't call me by my name. The best thing I ever did leave that family and change my entire name. Changing it gave me a way to buffer their abuse, to separate myself from the burden carried with my birth name. She can't stand that I'd choose something so positive to call myself. According to her, I'm a host of unmentionables. It was hard to hear past those things and try to figure out what to do and say to calm her down and get her to speak to me like a human being. It was as if I stood before my mother trying to get her to calm down, listen through the insults to figure out what she really wants from me. In the end it just seems like she's tired, angry and lost.
I picked up the phone with my therapist 30 seconds after my sister told me that I'm a terrible person and not needed. I learned a few things that I didn't know. I began to question some of what was being told to me by my Aunty S because it didn't make sense. My sister was forthcoming with information that I wasn't ready for...another blast! I can't believe I actually said to my Aunt, thank you for having cared for my mother!!! That is so disgusting, now that I know what really took place, that is so disgusting. And I'm happy I didn't sit across the table from her and have coffee, yuck!!!