Daily Archive for August 30th, 2009

Fishers of Men

Fishers of MenI knew what to expect from her physically. That was never subtle. It was in your face bold, no misunderstandings. But when she spoke she could confuse me and twist my mind before I even knew she’d done it. She’d ask questions when I was at my most vulnerable. I took the bait more than I’d like to admit. Perhaps I needed to trust even if it wasn’t safe to do so.

It’s difficult to remind myself that I had the mind of a child but was treated as if I were an adult. I see in my mind’s eye an adult being abused. Even in my dreams when I’m being abused I see myself as an adult. This adds to the humiliation of it all. This photo shows an adult body with a child’s head and hair style. She’s wrapped in lines and has a fishing pole going through her mouth into her skull and through the back of her head. The fish is swimming right for the bait.

In my art therapy yellow often symbolizes cowardly qualities. Blue is self worth, red can be strength and or extreme emotion. Green symbolizes youthfulness and innocence. I think it’s interesting that her hips are girded with blue and the top of her head is stained with it right where the pole exits. Her shoulders are tented with blue but not her hands. It’s also significant that the yellow in this image is in the shape of a figure standing in the same position she is. I’m not sure if the shadow person is me or if it’s my mother and her cowardly acts.

Title: Fishers of Men

The Art of Running

The Art of Running

Details: Dog figure with human eyes and nose with flowers growing from his mouth.

Title: The Art of Running

The Supplanter

What I want to know is this, how difficult was it for you stop fighting to see your children? I know  she wanted the divorce (or so she said) and that she refused to let you see us. But I want to know, how hard did you try to see us?

Your marriage to my mother lasted 3 years. It took only one year to divorce her.  My marriage to her lasted 20 and took 10 more to end it.

As an adult I found out that she lied about you. Most everything she told me save your name was a lie. You’re not an alcoholic. You’re not a con-artist nor are you a lazy, good for nothing bum. When I stood before you I saw a tall man with clear eyes who aged appropriately. It looked as if life had been good to you. You remarried and have a little dog in a cute little house on a good side of town. The place was clean and well lit but noticeably void of color.  Though I found that tiny detail interesting I didn’t let on, I just stared dead into your eyes and hung on your every word. I soaked up that moment like it was the last one I’d ever have.

Continue reading ‘The Supplanter’