I've thought a lot of my mother lately. In therapy Friday afternoon we talked about traveling, the orchestra, theater, opera and all the cultural things she loved. It's a strange contrast between the tyrant and the artist but there was in fact a contrast, one I loved. I recall my mother singing around the house. I knew when she sang it would be a safe day. For some reason when she sang all the vile went away.
One of my mother's favorite animals is the African Elephant which is why I purchased a notebook with one on the cover. I also liked the quote which says: Colors speak louder than words.
The loss is incredible.
Grant mercy please.
She left deep wounds, many questions, but no answers. I have to find resolution in wreckage.
In the notebook I've written letters to my mother, some kind, others telling her exactly how I felt living with her. These letters and drawings are just another step in healing from the war god I called mother. ...continue reading "Mother’s and Grey Elephants"
She had a wide range of peculiarities but one constant; her mouth was always wide open.
Her violence frightened me as a child. The fact that she's still alive makes me a bit uncomfortable.
The woman with the split earlobe laughed loudly, sang loudly, slapped you on the back while laughing and did everything over the top. It wasn't mental illness, it was plain madness. ...continue reading "Wide"
He said I'm just a ball of pain and that I need to stop blowing steam at him. I stopped, looked at him and said, Did you just tell me to stop telling you I'm in pain. He said, yes, because its nonsense. Then he said, "I'm just telling it like it is. I shoot from the hip." I pointed to the nearly 40 frames on one wall having to do with his military career and congressional awards and I said, "You're a soldier, are you?" I said, "Some people aren't soldiers. Some people don't shoot from the hip or like being shot at, at all." I explained that if he didn't believe me then that's one thing, but to say, "stop blowing that steam" and tell me I'm speaking nonsense isn't an acceptable way to speak to me. ...continue reading "Neurology appointment. I’m not a soldier."
My own reaction to first hearing about Kevin Spacey was skepticism. I immediately gave him the benefit of the doubt. Why? I did so because I've seen his face. I've seen his work and I liked him. He looks harmless. I even became defensive when they called him a predator. I thought they convicted him in the media without proof. Then I saw that House of Cards cancelled and I thought, hang on guys, how can you cancel a show based on one accusation? It took a minute, just one, to realize that Hollywood didn't leave behind a successful, money making show based on one accusation 20 yrs ago. It stands to reason they knew a fall out was to come. It would appear that Kevin Spacey is in fact a known predator of young boys. ...continue reading "Not #MeToo"
Today Dr. D and I discussed saying "no" to my mother and the consequences of doing so. My teeth began to chatter. I was rocking back and forth. I had to get a hold of myself.
Last night I was in the bedroom and instinctively turned to verify she wasn't in the doorway but for just a second I saw her. Obviously it was my head playing games, but for a second I thought I saw her standing there, which is why I turned to look. I had a scarf hanging over the door which created a figure in my peripheral vision. Turning to look isn't new. I have to force myself to not look at the door. I have to tell myself there's no way she's in the house, stop worrying, remember I'm safe now. But that's not enough, I have to look at the bedroom door to ease my mind. ...continue reading "Therapy Review: Control. Gaining confidence."
I often sound like I hate her. I don't. I sound like I haven't given an ounce of forgiveness. I think an important point about giving my mother forgiveness is knowing she never asked for it or acknowledged needing it. She never knew she'd received it.
Several years ago I said I give my mother full forgiveness. What that means is I asked nothing back from her crimes against me. Her debt to me was dissolved. This personal step wasn't an over night process. It was/is a personal understanding and has only to do with what was done to me. What was done to others is a totally different story.
What do I mean when I say I forgive my mother? It's clearer to explain what I don't mean.
Forgiveness doesn't erase guilt or payment to society for crimes against me and them.
My pain hasn't ended, it's been redirected and eased.
Even after forgiveness there is still a lot of work in therapy to complete.
It doesn't mean there's no anger or mean that the abuse doesn't matter.
What does forgiveness mean for me? It means and meant:
I stopped asking for justice in my case.
It meant I didn't want to kill her anymore.
I didn't want to see her suffer or die the way she died.
If ever the law decided she must be charged, I didn't want to be the one on the other end of handing down sentencing for what she did to me. That's the key right there. I didn't want to be the one to hand down sentencing.
There were only two of us but we had a nice time. We didn't do anything formal, just tea and cake. One can make tea and cake sound stuffy if important facts are left out. I had the tea already and she brought Little Debbie's. It was a nice visit though with some catching up as well as learning about one another.
I'm just now getting to know her. Interestingly enough, her mother was my foster mother making her a foster sister when I was a child. Small world isn't it?
It's sometimes difficult to be in the same room with someone who knows way too much about me, especially since I didn't get to pick and choose what she knows. My sister decided this exposure for me which I find unacceptable and disempowering. I don't know what preconceived ideas she has about me, I only know she seems to like me...and yet I don't trust it. Why? In general I don't trust women. That is first and foremost but there's also the concern of being judged. ...continue reading "Tea, Chat and Trust"
I told the temporary GP that hitting a ten threatens the truth that I have everything to live for.
I bounce around pain levels with my emotions trying to catch up. I am excited about tomorrow because I'm getting a new frog and I'm excited about going to services this evening yet my anxiety is sky high. I'm fighting back tears while bouncing around the house cooking mock Chinese food and drinking spiced tea I threw together just this morning. I feel on the verge of breaking which will leave a trail all over this house because that's where I am, all over.
I feel sad, emotional, excited, anxious anticipation, despair. I don't feel suicidal, just tired. I know I'm going to services tonight and I know it'll take everything out of me for the rest of the night and into the morning but I need to be there. I hate leaving the house anymore because I have to take my head with me. What if people want hugs? What if my old friend is there? What if I cry right in the middle of someone's talk?
I hate my body and I hate my mind. I hate these strong hormonal swings with roller coaster pain levels. I hate that my family is torn apart. I hate that I felt so much anger I wanted my grandmother dead. I don't feel that strongly right now but sometimes I think, if she hadn't kept up the tradition of abusing children, would my mother have abused me?
I never knew what would come out of her mouth. I never knew what mood she would be in. What I did know is what to expect when she got that look in her eye. I knew to expect horror.
The art piece was created by making lines and loops. The piece has all kinds of hidden objects in the head / hair of the woman. He face is deformed, her head is full and her eyes are crazy.
When you first look at her it all blends together but a longer, closer look shows shapes that form fish, a mask, a horse and other objects. As usual, the colors are vivid. I've added swirls and checks but I started with just loops and lines.
8.5 x 5.5 on 98lb art paper. Art therapy journal.
Today during therapy I drew a large tree. At first I kept messing up. I couldn't get the branches right. After I started really talking I was able to punch out the tree exactly how I wanted it.
She takes her trip to the Netherlands and for what, to add it to the countries she's visited. I wish she could visit reality. I wish she could see her true self in the mirror and then fade to nothing from the gravity of her errors, her crimes. I wish she could be crushed by it. She hurt my mother. She really hurt her.
I hate your faces. I hate the way you walk and the way you drive and talk on the phone at the same time as if you're someone we should stop and ask, who is that?
Today you told me I'm worthless, useless. I didn't skip a beat. I didn't strike back. I didn't back down, I just kept on going, as usual.
One of my favorite movies the girl is crying on her knees and says, I'm not worthless. I'm not worthless. She worked so hard to wipe the dirt from herself, to be respectable, but she still fought stigma and the times. Times have not changed, women are still the object valued in dollars and cents, or with our clothes off.
I am not worthless. I've wiped the dirt off my face. I've paid for crimes I didn't commit. Don't say I'm worthless. Don't say anything at all. Slip into the cloud of reality, smell it, taste it. It's going to break you. Reality is going to break you, something should.
The Netherlands. You're going to the Netherlands. Conquer that, too.