My therapist thought this was a sketch of my roommate’s daughter but no, it’s me as a little girl. We talked about how tired she looks and how despite being exhausted she moves forward because she has no choice but to keep going.
The back is twisted and broken from carrying burdens that never belonged to her..to me.
Had he called my mother a coward I’d a flipped. Only when in a good enough space can I call her anything but my owner.
In therapy we talked about how I run all the time. I do a hundred different things during the day but still I feel as if I’ve done nothing at all. I keep moving for fear I’ll catch up with myself. When I was a child I kept moving because I had no choice. As an adult I keep moving because I fear the other choice. Stopping is harder than trudging along.
The other sketches are untitled.
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fma
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