Who am I? What do I actually like? What is performance and what is preference? Tennis shoes and baseball caps = preference. I know for a fact that’s me. The Chicago Cubs hat is my favorite. I feel naked without a cap. I like my tennis shoes, high tops and low top Converse. I have pink, green and black. I’m bound and determined to get the red ones and an orange pair. I will have those shoes!!!! I prefer dogs to cats, vanilla to chocolate, blueberry to cherry and cookies to cake. I prefer veggies to meat, potatoes instead of mac and cheese. I know for certain what I like when it comes to foods.
I like the colour red. I’m un-nerved by yellow and motivated by orange, inspired by green. But when I paint with vivid colours its not because I enjoy colour but rather I’m able to scream with it. Who would ever think you could scream with colour? It’s a good way to hide huh? People are too busy enjoying it to notice that I’m screaming my head off. The louder and more saturated the colour the louder the growl, the scream and the less you’re able to hear me. It just doesn’t feel safe enough to scream and let it be heard as it is. Hiding behind colour denies support. Catch 22. I need to hide but by doing so I deny myself of much needed support and understanding. It’s a vicious cycle of fear.
I prefer large windows to small ones. I like a lot of light in the house, open spaces with not much on the tables….or is it that it looks cleaner that way and I refuse to ever have my home filthy again? That’s where lines are blurred. I doubt that it matters though. I like a clean house. When it’s messy it makes me anxious. When it comes to furniture I prefer the country antique look. I like country, classical and opera quite a bit but my favorite is light rock with a bit of pop undertones.
I keep trying to prove who I’m not instead of allowing myself to show who I truly am. I’m not a liar. I’m not a dependent woman in need of emotional cuddling. I’m not this, I’m not that. I’m not who my mother said I am. I forget to allow myself growth and fail to allow myself the freedom to show who I am because I’m too busy trying to prove who I am not. I’m not my mother, I get it. But am I what my mother said I was? Am I a liar? Am I a fake, a manipulator, an ungrateful, cold and harsh nobody? Instead of trying to prove that I’m a good girl perhaps I should let myself grow and stop devoting myself to acts that prove how wrong she is.
When will I know who I am? With multiple personality disorder I wonder if that question will ever be answered. I hope to actually feel grounded one day, contained in some way….no so abstract and boundless. It’s noteworthy that when it comes to my art the vast majority of the time every inch of the canvas is covered, saturated…from edge to edge on countless paintings as if the painting itself longs to move past the confines set up for it.
J of A
The Performer- Monday, October 29, 2007:4:39PM EST
Ooh I like that painting. I keep coming back to it and seeing more and more detail.
I too find myself struggling between who I really want to be and who I think I have to be. I think it’s that fear that if we do something wrong we’ll be in more trouble.l
In your previous entry, you mentioned about performing for your mother. When we began therapy years ago and when we went to the 2nd therapist that diagnosed us MPD/DID, she would speak of me/us “performing” for her in therapy. I never understood what she meant. I do now. She would try to get us to talk about our pain and to break down the walls that we put up in therapy. Looking back on that therapy (what little I recall), I can see a number of things.
I can see how my therapy with that therapist was different than the kind of therapy that I have now. I can see and understand why our system didn’t trust her (Dr. A) to the degree that we’ve trusted Wendy and even our current therapist. And frankly, for very good reasons as we were hurt by some things she said and did and ultimately left her. I just didn’t know or understand why or what was happening in relation to our system not trusting Dr. A to the degree and depth that we eventually did with Wendy and are on the right track in the same positive direction as with Cec. It is a testament to the understanding that our system knew not to thoroughly trust Dr. A. I think that had a lot to do with ‘performing,’ and also simply that it is what we’ve done all our lives: To hide the pain, to mask things, to be cautious and careful in what is shown, to perform. I’m not sure all of us understand this concept, and yet some of us seem to understand it to some degree. We try not to do that anymore in therapy, but I think it still happens sometimes.
Sort of off track here with your post. Just felt the need to say this.
Julies
The idea of screaming with color — a hidden scream — is powerful.
I can so relate to your painting and a hidden scream. When I was in counseling for a few years, I heard about art therapy and how it could help you get in touch with your feelings so I went to the craft store and bought oil based paints, canvas and brushes and did a series of paintings. The first one is most shades of black and red and in a small corner is a stick figure of a little girl with no mouth so that others can’t hear her silent screams. The poem that I wrote for that painting is going to be my next posting on incest on my blog. Several articles, including this one, have pointed me in that direction today. Thanks for sharing.