A History of Eyes on Me

Content: Abuse. Being watched by abusers. Sadism.

Publishing this art piece comes at an odd time seeing as how I just talked about store workers profiling and following me and my caregiver at the store. It’s also not concerning imaginary audience / fable but an all together different type of being watched.

I was never sure why my mother was watching me. I was more concerned by her method of watching me. Although I know she watched me and my sister around the second grade, my most vivid memories are the 4th grade when she wore her trench coat and stood behind the door motionlessly.

The coat was her regular coat. It was a black trench coat. When the lights were out we couldn’t see her, nor were we looking for her. But if we saw a motionless figure in the hallway it scared the crap out of us. She’d make sure we’d seen her before walking away. No words. Just walks away.

After a little while I worked hard not to show I was afraid. I’d either say nothing or turn around to the door and say something to her. I had to guage how far I could go in pretending she didn’t scare me. I knew there was a response she was looking for. If I withheld that response too much, I might regret it. When being beaten with a dowel rod I knew I had to give the response she was looking for.

"She speaks the dream" - available

When being watched in the room alone, when showering or using the restroom there was a response she was looking for. I always wondered if there were times she wasn’t trying to get caught and see my reaction. This game of watching went on all the way to the day before I moved out. She listened to phone calls when we had a corded phone. I owned nothing, especially my body.

When I moved to Florida with my mother’s sister, my cousin and an uncle by marriage, I thought life was going to be good. He said he would treat me like his own daughter. That one sentence makes me want to break into tears. The irony of it is cruel.

Roses for Jane - available

My cousin was his step daughter. She endured more abuse than me. Having me dress up. Making crude comments. Watching me. If I turned around and saw him watching through the cracked door, he too would stay just a few seconds longer before quietly leaving.

I’ll be keeping A History of Eyes on Me a little while longer. It’s hanging in my own art area beside the painting She Speaks the Dream, which was created in 2017.

Observations – The painting called Roses for Jane was remade. In addition to more eyes, I brought out the figure in the back then made a dramatic leap by dividing the main figure in black and white. I kept quite a bit of the original twist and turns while softening her face by one notch. As a person who uses sunflowers for emotional expressions, it interests me that not a single flower is on the original piece or the new. The main figure is no longer standing in the dark.

Thank you for coming to Sundrip today.

Faith

That feeling. That color.

My CNA took me to Michael’s craft store where a few people decided to make things difficult for us. The company recently added an electric cart for disabled people, however, both times I used the carts my CNA and I were immediately jumped by the manager.

The first time we were approached rough was when the cart was plugged in by an office. My CNA unplugged it to bring to me. The manager acted like we were trying to steal it. She came out and physical grabbed the cart to ask what we were trying to do! I told her I was just trying to shop. She said ok then said they usually ask for it not to go outside but it’ll be ok if my CNA picks me up at the sidewalk then brings it back in. Keep in mind, I was sitting in my wheelchair inside the store. My CNA is trying to come to me inside the store with the electric cart when the manager came out of her office, physically put her hands on the cart and asked my CNA what she was doing. Where are you going? What are you doing? I’m inside the store which means I’m shopping.

Then she told us despite the sign, I can be picked up at the curb as long as the CNA brings it back. That was all last time. Using the cart today should have been fine, but nope.

I was in the car, at the curb. I was close enough to the door that I could hear and see the manager. The manager got in front of the electric cart and told my CNA she couldn’t take the cart to me outside. The CNA reminded her that we were told that I could be picked up at the curb, right in front of the door. So she tells the lady that she’s a caregiver and I’m her client. The manager settled down and let my CNA pass to pick me up at the curb.

The way the manager reacted to the CNA was over the top and accusatory. We know full well you’re allowed to take the cart to the curb. You can take it to the sidewalk and have a person bring it back in. Smh

As we shopped we had three employees openly following us. I said, it’s almost like they see color and stop thinking.

Several minutes later one of the people openly following us was crossing our path with those rolling staircases. This being the Midwest, and since we were that close, someone had to speak during the social collision. The employee politely said, Are you finding everything you’re looking for?….. My CNA snarled back, “No! And you don’t need to know what I want or what I’m looking for!” It shocked me and the employee.

I intervened and told my CNA to please stop letting words come out of her mouth. I told the employee that I was sorry for that interaction, then I went back with my CNA, who had left the scene of the accident. Lol

As we shopped I was deeply saddened that a trip to the craft store had turned so bad. I understand the CNA didn’t appreciate getting jumped by the manager for doing what clients are allowed to do, go to the curb. I too was hurt inside by being followed. I mean, you know that feeling you get when something is so wrong that you just want to say, look, I’ve done nothing wrong. Why are you acting this way?

That feeling is vulnerable. That feeling is degrading. It’s degrading because the accusation is pretty rough. We were followed by 3 people so openly because we’re that color. We’re the color that makes people stop thinking clearly.

When my CNA snapped at the employee it gave me an opportunity to play peace maker. When we went to the checkout I talked to that employee. I told them to have a manageable day. I said, the world has changed so much that I don’t expect to have a good day. We both kind of chuckled. I said, We never know what to expect. People are so angry.” I said, “It makes it hard to know who to trust.” That comment made a difference. It was like we broke a bit of a barrier there for just a second.

In all truthfulness, I believe this person followed my CNA and me because the supervisor requested it, the second employee, too. However, no such thing can be said for the supervisor. She decided to stop thinking when she saw color.

Imagine that! Imagine losing reasoning ability because of someone else’s color. Imagine not being able to accurately judge threat levels because you see someone of color. Imagine being so closed to the community that it never crossed the manager’s mind that we just wanted a fun day at the craft store. Why does my color make you stupid?

Michael’s craft store doesn’t even prosecute unless you take a printer or dye cutting machine. They don’t prosecute general shoplifting so why were they on us so hard over merchandise we were willing to pay for?

My anxiety for going out remains high. I worry regularly about getting shot.

Faith

At War With Myself – Disordered Eating

Content – Disordered eating. Binge eating, no purge. Shame. Hopeless feelings. Anxiety. Inpatient for medication management.

I had therapy today where it was decided that I’ll have a short set time with extra home care. I’ll be adding a 3 hr day to Saturday until the beginning of the year.

I really have a hard time keeping myself together. I’m close to needing inpatient. I’m trying to get around that.

I burst into tears 3 times Friday, out of nowhere. Thursday I was so anxious that I felt like I needed complete quiet bc I was so overly stimulated. Every sound assaulted me. I couldn’t sleep until around 6am. My head has been all over the place.

On the 8th I’ll go to see how my eyesight is doing with the Pseudotumor cerebri. Peripheral vision is gone on the left side. There’s a large blind spot in the middle of the left eye. I have some issues on the right, mostly fatigue, I think. Def worries me.

I was supposed to lose weight so I can avoid a spinal tap. Instead of of being thinner for my opthalmology appointment, I’ll return 30 lbs heavier. How will I explain that? I have to take the psych meds and I have disordered eating. It’s not going well. I know my eating is disordered, maybe even addiction level. I have the pull of increased appetite from those 2 meds and then my disordered eating.

The difficulty is that I can eat and eat without feeling anything. I’m not satisfied nor am I hungry. I’m empty. As cliche as it sounds, I keep trying to fill a hole. So I keep eating, mostly sweets. Binge eating is a problem. The other day I ate six apple fritters in less than 30 minutes. The day before I had twelve strawberry pop tarts in about an hour. No other food those days bc I didn’t remember.

Eating to sooth emotions is a problem. Baked goods make me feel better. Coffee and tea make me feel better. It’s like I’ve got to put something inside myself, only once it’s been eaten the soothing is gone. 1) I can’t tell that I ate or drank. 2) I’m back to whatever I was feeling that caused me to turn to food. It’s a vicious cycle.

After the 12th all my teeth will be pulled. I’ll wait for them to heal before getting full dentures. Eating will be difficult. Having disordered eating at that time worries me.

Now that I have a steady CNA and now that Dr D works in a building that is handicapped accessible, I can go see him. I’m just embarrassed! I’m embarrassed about seeing the ophthalmologist this coming Friday. I’m embarrassed to see my primary doctor. I’m embarrassed to see my psychologist.

I thought to myself the other day, there’s very little understanding offered to people who are overweight. At least some understanding is offered to people addicted to street drugs. Fat people are blamed and mocked as if the reasons for my addiction are any different. Life hurts. Same story, different poison.

I feel lost with my eating issues. I keep thinking I’ll get a hold of it. Add disordered eating to the pull of medication side effects from seroquel or my Pregabline and I’ve got myself an inner war I’m quickly losing.

Joan