Whomever decided it’s easier to hate than to love must have never truly felt hatred. Whomever decided its easier to be angry than to accept joy must have never truly felt angry or anguish. This is not easy. At this point I’d give my right arm to not feel this kind of hatred and this kind of anger. Just like with love, this type of hatred and anger is all consuming. I feel it when I wake up, when I walk across the floor, when I look at the TV or the PC screen I feel it. I’m not getting anywhere with this. I’m stuck. It feels like it’s getting worse.
A few days ago I turned the TV on and saw a commercial for a new episode of CSI:Miami where a young girl was abused by her mother. The mother yelled at the girl, “If you want to act like an animal I’ll treat you like one.” She then grabbed her head and shoved it into a dog’s bowl on the kitchen floor. Where did they get my family’s private home videos?
Continue reading ‘Hatred Is Not Easier Than Love’
Yes, my mother was creative, even artistic…. as was Hitler, John Wayne Gacy, Charles Manson and Fernando Eros Caro. Fernando could lay down some paint, I mean to tell you, and Hitler wasn’t too bad himself. Hitler even wrote a beautiful poem about his mother but I assure you no amount of creativity can overshadow what he was and what he represents. In the same way, no amount of angelic sound or beautifully painted words can mask my mother’s black heart.
Continue reading ‘The Other Side of Mother’
Dr. D and I discussed the sketches I did the other day about life as a multiple. We also discussed huge differences in sketches about my mother and the ones about my sister. The ones with my mother are chaotic and usually filled from one edge of the paper to the other. There appears to be a lot of random images and usually the drawing shows high anxiety as well as grief and fear. The sketches I do about my sister usually appear empty which speaks rather loudly in itself. The art pieces about her are usually dead center of the page and rather simple. The one I did the other day shows me holding onto her arm as we stand together tangled in her shackles. The image is proportionate and has recognizable humans which is in stark contrast to pieces concentrating on mother issues. The one directly next to it is typical of mother issues with it’s elongated figures, exaggerated features exaggerated and closed eyes. Eyes are important in my pieces. They are usually quite large or closed with very little in between. It’s yet another extreme that shows up regularly in my work.
Continue reading ‘Symbolism In Art Therapy’
The other day I sat up watching an infomercial about Lord only knows what when I had an epiphany. I don’t have to fight to stay awake. I can go to bed when I’m tired. The epiphany came in the form of an insider’s voice who said, “You know, you don’t have to stay up.” Oh, okay. Really? Are you sure cause that doesn’t sound right. To walk in the room and lay down to rest seemed like a foreign concept. WTF? Do what?
Dr. D and I discussed how difficult it’s been to feel alone yet constantly have company. That company is in my head but its still hardship. I’m taxed by the realization that I have no real alone time, no private thoughts. As illustrated in the sketches I go to the grocery store with a gang of people. I use the restroom with an audience, a chattering group accompanies me to the dinner table, when I walk the dog, when I take a bath and when I sit in therapy. Even though we work well together it’s still a hardship to NEVER, ever be alone. The fact that we do work together (most of the time) makes our existence easier but it’s still very much a burden to feel as if everything about me is shared. Our closeness as a group is shown in the drawings where we are holding hands. It’s also shown by how close we’re standing to one another.
Continue reading ‘Art Therapy Sketches’
Ring, ring, ring.
Mom?
Faith? It’s late, what’s wrong?
Yup, it’s me, Faith, your daughter of nearly 40 years. After a long hesitant pause I continue, I have a problem. It’s only the 2nd of the month and I’ve got $15 left. I’m worried. Are you able to help at all?
What happened to all your money? Are you still smoking it up?
Continue reading ‘Creative Writing – The Natural Order of Things’
This morning I was greeted by Mary Jane and her soft purr. She, my little cuddly vampire aka Calico Rose, gave me a very welcome love attack which was great to start to the morning. As I lay there petting her I thought to myself, how did I end up with you? Why do I get to have you? How did I get so lucky? Mary Jane is a great kitty. She’s calm, mostly very quiet and loves to be loved on and held but likes her alone time too. Did I mention she’s calm? Boy is that a great for me. LOL I told her I was happy she’s here and that she should stay forever and ever.
After I got home from therapy I grabbed a bite to eat then needed a nap. I slept longer than intended then woke from this dream:
Continue reading ‘Dream: Losing Mary Jane’
I had a dream about my therapist, two actually. The first dream I remember very little about. I just remember he killed people that hurt me, mainly my mother. The second dream he was the owner of a small neighborhood grocery store. It was late at night, close to closing time but my mother and I were still shopping. He was ready to go home so he gathered his wife and 8 year old son and got into a large white truck with a camper on top. He told my mother to lock up after she and I were done but instead the mother took a few more customers. I woke after that.
Commentary: The very first dream could be taken in a few ways. He killed my mother could seem rather threatening but in my eyes it could also be that he is helping to tame her ability to still ravage my mind. In the dream I never saw him kill her, I just knew he’d done it. The lack of seeing her killed, no violence, no blood seems to me more symbolic than a revenge type killing. I don’t know, I didn’t seem threatened by the dream at all. The second dream he had a totally different role. He left me with her. This dream I have a problem with because I remember when he walked out the door I felt let down, unprotected. He knows what she’s capable of and what she did to me yet he left me with her anyway. I ‘m also taken by the fact that he got into a truck with a camper on it. The camper was much like the one I slept in as a child when my mother removed me from my English teachers house.
Continue reading ‘Dream: Therapist Kills Mom’
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