I stitched a white hand and left each finger open at the top. I then wrote on each finger my needs and fear and thoughts. Unlike other plush things I’ve created I didn’t stuff the hand I just left it limp – powerless. I left the fingers floppy – powerless. I left the fingers open on the ends so that it became impossible to grasp and keep a hold of anything at all. I gave the unfinished hand to my mother.
THIS & THAT
“He must have an artist’s eye for colour and form who can arrange a hundred flowers as tastefully, in any other way, as by strolling through a garden, and picking here one and there one, and adding them to the bouquet in the accidental order in which they chance to come. Thus we see every summer day the fair lady coming in from the breezy side hill with gorgeous colours and most witching effects. If only she could be changed to alabaster, was ever a finer show of flowers in so fine a vase? But instead of allowing the flowers to remain as they were gathered, they are laid upon the table, divided, rearranged on some principle of taste, I know not what, but never again have that charming naturalness and grace which they first had.”
- Henry Ward Beecher
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sadism, self injury, self destruction, multiple personality disorder, Psychiatry, sibling abuse, depression, borderline personality disorder, Poetry, Trauma, Abuse, Mental Health, art therapy, Rape, personality disorders, dreams, Art, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, dissociation, torture, Recovery, mental illness,


Wow. Gave it to your mother, wow.
Good and healing thoughts to you.
Kate
It was perhaps one of the shortest dreams I’ve had in a long time. I woke up just as sick as the long drawn out ones though. Yuck!