Sundrip Journals
One of the things I like about photography is that without words you can speak volumes. Silence in black and white or colour film can say more from the heart than words could ever attempt to do.
When I was a kid, the reason I took pictures was to stop time. It was to keep moments with me that I never had to give away for any reason. I could take a huge world and capture it in a frame and I loved it. The world was more controllable then.
Me
it seems that flashbacks come out of nowhere but they are triggered by the smallest things sometimes…stuff we overlook but somehow links back to the past. What the hell is wrong with me and why am I so upset by one word added to another? It’s like certain word combinations raise the hair on the back of my neck and all I want to do is go hide.
Recently we’ve been troubled with the idea that we can’t get clean. No matter how many baths we take it feels like we can’t get clean, like we can feel the dirt still on us. We take one shower per day, that’s all because if we allowed ourselves to keep washing we’d prune up then we’d really feel bad.
I had chicken parmigiana minus the parmigiana. I added mozzarella instead. I don’t like parmisian cheese. I had cheese cake too and coffee. At least I ate something. Yesterday we had a can of green beans. We forced ourselves to eat that. I kept it down. I did a little cleaning today in prep for Tuesday’s visitor. A lady is coming to put a value on the house. Barney said he’s trying to get a new mortgage. I didn’t know they came to see the house in order to give you a new mortgage. I hope he doesn’t try and sell this thing cause we just got settled here. I don’t wish to move again.
Nearly puked in therapy. Puked after therapy. Pissed because I’m listening to Blossom tell me about her daughter but I’m hearing my mother talk to me. Tired. Hungry. Smoking like a firkin train and rather disillusioned. More than anything I feel sick inside. Sick like when I wake up from a bad dream that hangs on for the rest of the day. Talked about my sister. Talked about Baby. I feel sick. Thank goodness its Thursday. Don’t have therapy again until Tuesday. Sleeping.
The other day when anger gripped me I didn’t go to the boxing bag. I put The Three Stooges in another part of the house, went into the bedroom, closed the door and started throwing my shoes against the wall. By the fifth toss a very monotone alter said, “Please don’t destroy the shoes. They’re the only one’s we’ve got.” It was a rather emotionless, matter of fact, almost whisper of a voice that brought my arm down and dropped the sneakers to the floor. I laid on the bed, head pressed firmly in the pillow and closed my eyes. It has been a very long time since a prayer crossed these lips.
It is difficult for me to see others express anger. It is difficult for me to let others see me express my anger. I’ve been told so many ways to deal with anger issues. Most didn’t work for me. It didn’t help to put my head in a pillow and scream or punch the pillow. That just wasn’t enough. Continue reading ‘Anger Isn’t Another Word For Pain’
I struggled a bit at the thought of what happened but the last few days I’ve come to make peace with it. I had to check a few things out inside and a few outside myself but I believe at this point the main inner issue is resolved. During the upset I thought to myself “Suck it up and move on,” but that would be the old me. If I tossed it aside, didn’t think about it I’d work towards what I’m trying to unlearn. I’m trying not to stuff true emotions. I’m trying not to act like everything is okay and that I’m in a good spot when I’m not. So when I don’t want to smile I don’t. When I need to cry I will. Then and only then will I move on. I find the choice to feel or stuff comforting. Continue reading ‘Good Days, Bad Days and Perspective’
Dr. T and I talked about the differences between how I draw women and how I draw children. I’ve noticed the women I paint often have wild hair. Sometimes the hair is flowing, sometimes angry, sometimes sexual but always it expresses an emotion. When I paint children the vast majority of the time the hair is contained, controlled, perfect almost. I don’t like to put facial features on the children. I have once but most of the time if facial features appear they’ll appear on an adult female and her hair will express her mood. I’ve started feeling slightly more comfortable with putting facial features on female subjects but I still struggle with it. Continue reading ‘Therapy Conversations – Art in Therapy’
I haven’t blogged for several days now. I’ve tried to keep my head together with recent happenings, with increased nightmares and depression that neither increases or decreases. One way I’ve tried to keep myself sane is by doing artwork. So I introduce to you a part of art therapy called Mystic Ivy. If you click this link you’ll get a close up view of the colour version seen above.
The first thing you’ll notice on the full image is her eyes half masked. The mask in front of her eyes isn’t necessarily concealing secrets but withholding a true view until trust has been established. Then the mask comes off to show her true face, her true self. Continue reading ‘Mystic Ivy’
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