Underneath it All

I have been falling for a while, and this desparation is intense. I'm working hard, pushing forward, searching for the way out.


Today, I did the following drawings as I try to understand what I really am, what this little piece of the world I live in, really is.


I give the outside world and the past so much power, but in reality they have no power unless I give it to them....

*****

In a garland you see flowers, but you don’t see the thread. These emotions are like the flowers of a garland. Sometimes anger flowers, sometimes sadness flowers, sometimes happiness, sometimes pain, sometimes anguish. These are the flowers, and your whole life is the garland. There must be a thread; otherwise you would have fallen apart long ago. You continue as an entity – so what is the thread, the polestar? What is permanent in you?

      From Emotional Wellness

      by Osho

Do you see me?

What you view with your eyes is exactly what you expect to see, but it isn't me.

Right now, I’m so covered with emotions, I can’t even find myself. These things which grow on me appear to belong, but they are only reactions to the past, for every moment before this is the past.

Can you see how thoroughly they cover me?

They look as if they belong... they look right, because this is what you expect to see.

If you close your eyes, can you imagine what is underneath?

 

What would you see if you stripped away this weighty covering?

 

What am I? 

On what does this anger, this anxiety, this formidable grief grow?

 

Breathe…. Breathe… and look beyond what is really only a reflection of the outside world.

 

Petal by petal, remove despair as if it were a dirty garment. Tear it off... Cast it aside...

I am light.

I am color.

I am weightless and formless, so there is no need to cover anything.

There is no modesty,

no guilt,

no embarrassment.

 

 

I am not what the world made me. 

I am exactly what I'm meant to be.... and nothing can change that.

My Inner World: Expressive Arts Carnival Submission

Paul at MindParts has been putting together the second Expressive Arts Carnival. For this carnival he gives an art therapy assignment and anyone who chooses to participate can submit their finished artwork to him. You can read about it here.

The short version of the assignment: To create a piece of artwork that portrays an abstract version of my inner world.

I don't do well with abstract. Knowing this, I was worried about doing the project at all, but Paul said not to worry about that aspect of it... just to create an image of my inner world. So, my piece is not abstract - not in the way it would be defined in the art world. What I've done here is a symbolic reflection of what I feel inside using a very concrete "door" metaphor.

Below is my solution, which I entitled "Going Inside."
(click on the image to see it larger)

Each door represents a part of me. Some are strong, some are beautiful, some are faded, some are beat-up and beat-down, some stand wide open while others are barely ajar and still others are solidly closed.

Maybe one day they will all be open. For now, even those that are open all the way expose mostly shadows and darkness. In this drawing, light represents awareness, so the darkness means that even though the door is open, I know I am not totally aware of what lies behind it.

The rainbow door in the front represents the face I show the world. It is the part I would most likely refer to when I say, "Me". It is multi-colored, free-floating, and emits it's own light. It is semi-transparent, letting other doors show through as they need to, but it is also large, strong and closed to represent the boundaries I've been working so hard on for the last couple years. Near the bottom of this door, a piece is missing. This is to represent the way other parts come through, sometimes without the rainbow facade even knowing.

In the back, there is a massive black iron door with large bolts. It is mostly obscured because it wants to be. Behind it are parts of me that remain hidden.

The door in the top center with the green light shining out through it's slitted opening is the one behind which physical and sexual awareness hide. That door is still mostly closed, at best. In times of stress, it slams shut. Stress makes me shut down in a way that leaves me totally unaware of my body sensations. For instance. yesterday I forgot to eat all day. I was not aware of hunger. Only when I began to feel rather faint and head-achy, around seven pm, did I remember that I hadn't eaten. Unfortunately sex is stressful, too.

There are double-doors which represent the two sides some parts seem to have. These seem to be closely associated with emotions like fear, sadness and anger. One of these double-doors might open to handle a situation one way. Other times, the other door might open when a different approach is necessary. Occassionally both doors open at the same time. For the most part, these doors remain closed until needed, and I'm still not certain if it is preferable to have none, one or both open.

There are single doors which represent the simpler sides of me. Specific qualities, assets and talents are behind those doors.

All in all, I'm happy with this representation. I'm glad I put this together because, although it's been in my head for a while, it has clarified some concepts for me to put a picture to the idea.

*****

Today's Link: Blooming Lotus - Children Don't Have the Option of Saying No

*****

Such Wild Wild

I was cleaning out a closet and found a box on a high shelf that held my past. It's a box that's been moved with me from place to place, without my opening it, for decades. 

On the top were love-letters written by my husband more than 30 years ago, ticket stubs for concerts and amusement parks and campgrounds and baseball games. There were birthday cards from long-gone grandparents and notes passed in school from a best friend who has been missing since 1989.

Near the bottom of the box were drawings and poetry I created when I was very young. There were many - far too many to even read, much less post - but I chose a few to put up here and share. Most of the drawings I chose were self-portraits that I either remembered or could identify by a date on the back. I think all the poems are also self-portraits... but then, maybe poetry always is?

Age 12

I had a velvet day
Forever my day smiled
And then you took my day away
And the whole world became wild
Poor child
Poor child
Living in such wild wild

What strikes me about this self-portrait

- dated from just after my twelfth birthday -

 is the cloth she is holding.

It seems like a small portion of what it could be

when it is compared to the large cloth hanging next to her.

Age 13

Devoured
Like a leafless flower
He reached in for the heart
And took only certain parts
Broken away
He left me only the three selves
And threw out the ones he didn’t like
He forced me to deny three parts
And killed them
Murderer
In the process
Murdered
I’ve been murdered
Piece by piece
Self by self
He’s destroyed three important people that hid in me
And they will never be for anyone to see
I’ve lost myself in this death
And I will never be whole
And alive
Again
And all these things I have him to blame for
But still there is no blame
The part of me that blames is gone
With all the other feelings

When I was fourteen, I had a hard time seeing myself in the mirror. I never looked quite like I expected and often parts seemed to be missing. I remember doing this drawing when I was in a particularly strange state of mind. I really felt that I was a freak and often told people I was from another planet.

I think I believed it.

Age 14

To us all
Two sides must be
And through us all
Dimensions three
We can't be just one self
Although there is one body
There are always at least two consciousnesses
And me and my reflection
We walk around the land
And we see the denied other selves
We see the slower hand
Me and my idealist
My freedom self
And my bound self
We see all of the flat ones walking everywhere
We wonder how they can be
So alone
To all of us there have to be
Two sides and dimensions, three

I was very fond of drawing and painting roads that led nowhere,

 stairs that ended at nothing and empty corners.

Age 15

Leaving Them Behind

Old songs and memories
Playing on the shore
Naked in the sunlight
Diapered on the floor

Now you see the children
Aren’t you anymore
The children naked on the beach
Are on the other side of the door

As you pass the brightest days
The kids you were come through
You remember what you thought of them
And how it was when they were you


Age 15

Cut Deep

The answers are only temporary
And that was me tonight
Temporary solutions cut deep and bleed
Sometimes when I'm alone
Within myself
Without myself
And sometimes I have to cry
Beyond myself
About myself
And when I leave my home
And when I am alone
And when he’s gone to work
And I feel so uncertain
I find a tear that’s falling
And the answer’s still not calling
And I'm lost
So lost
Denied myself
Outside myself
And now I lost the fight
For the answer is only temporary

I remember showing this drawing to a school counselor, in high school. She asked me, doubtfully, if I really thought this is how I looked. I said yes, and wondered why she asked. Then I decided it was probably my lack of skill that was the problem.

I really saw nothing odd about this drawing at all.

Age 16 (? I remember writing this but it isn't dated)

Little Girl

The shouts get louder in the other room
Little girl doesn’t cry
She sits by the window, holding a doll
In one hand
She sits in a daydream, holding off the world
With the other
And no hand left to hold the future.

The shouts climax and finish in a sudden silence.
Little girl doesn’t cry
She lies in her bed, biting her lip
With lies in her head, biding her time
With both hands full of things she can’t use
And her mouth so full with more than she will ever chew

The silence is muffled behind the door
Little girl can’t cry
She waits in the darkness for nothing, for everything
Living less life than she thought she would
Giving less love that it takes to live

The silent world screams obscenities
Little girl doesn’t cry
She stands, awake, smiling sadly to herself
Living only for herself
Giving less of herself every day
Getting less in return than it takes to live
Nothing for nothing is all she can give


Age 16

I came out for a while and looked around
I didn't like what I found.
I’m fading back into the dream again
I’m backing up over the blue-jean den
The cigarettes, the gold corvettes
The thumb-out imitation of the girl
Who is me
Or maybe only wants to be

And I know I must live it
And I know I can’t top it
And I can’t hold it off
And there's no way to stop it
The smoke from the tube
Will fill me
And with any luck at all
It may kill me
But for now,
The change overcomes, overwhelms me
And I am only an illustration of the girl
Who is me
Or maybe doesn't want to be

This one is dated from shortly before my seventeenth birthday.

No doubt about this one... it's a little cracked.

It was one in a series of four, all self-portraits, and all broken in some way.

I never finished the fourth one.

Age 17

The reality appears again
Dragging in with it the cold air
And cold words of February

Hiding in a book
Sneaking a look every so often
Just to keep her head ready
She scurries through her life
Another slice of deprivation
Piled high with the pangs
Of emotion, kept alive
As she strives
To continue through this continuity
To finish this finality
To sever this severity

Sever
Sever
Now there's a word
Like cutting off a leg to save a body
She slices into her limbs and cuts the world from her reality

I began to draw in a more free style by the end of high-school. (It was the '70s, after all)

This self-portrait was one I did my junior year for art class. That was the year I went to the catholic school (where I was sent as a punishment since things weren't going very well in public school.) I only stayed one year - they kind of invited me not to come back.

I remember my teacher was not impressed. She told me this was not a self-portrait. I still disagree.

Age 18

Freedom’s child
Dressed in white
The premonition of birds in flight
Standing in the waters of good and light
Reflecting the day and the starry night

Frightened child
Dressed in black
Demolition and dead birds stacked
In piles of left debris and facts
That lead us from the proper track

Somber child
Dressed in gray
Can’t tell me the time of day
Combined night and starry day
Child of light who’s lead astray

Tell me children
Good and bad
Tell me of the lives you’ve had
Let me feel the brave and sad
Don’t let the sorrow drive you mad
And drop the cloth in which you’re clad

I was very fond of putting hands, cages and eyes in my artwork.

This represents many like it.

Age 19

It's clear, now, that those inside

Must remain and always hide

Nobody wants to know the madness

Horrific fear, horrendous sadness

Close the door, and lock the cage

Keep the world safe from rage

That has no boudaries, never ends

Just smile sweetly and pretend

Until it all begins again

I think I did this one the summer between high-school and college. I'm gauging that by the style, level of skill and also the paper it's drawn on, which is cheap paper my father always had in the house. Once I started at the Art Institute in Chicago, I learned what it was like to draw on decent paper, and I did so whenever I could afford it.

On the back, it says only, "Me".

Breach

Last year, after I incorporated the first set of lost memories from my childhood, I did not feel relief, nor did I have a sense of accomplishment. Instead, I had a strong sense that this was only the beginning.

This image came into my head, and to me it seemed to illustrate a feeling that I was just waiting to drown in all that was coming my way.



When my eleven-year-old daughter saw this drawing, she said, "The girl will float up to the top, and when it gets full, she'll swim out."

I do believe she's right.

Daddy's Girl

There are things that never were
Things I'll never see

How do I forgive the things
That can never be?

The Shadow of That Which Never Was

Opening the Door to Me

As my life becomes more my own, I find myself creating much more hopeful images. Here are a few I created during the Summer of 2008.

The comments below are about both the images here, and the text I've deleted (2-21-12) as I continue to write my memoir.

Looking Ahead

A friend of mine is turning in the last of her divorce papers today. She is walking away from a marriage filled with every kind of abuse imaginable. The entire journey to this day has been filled with anger and fear. Now that the day is upon her, the day of reckoning, she is overwhelmed with sadness.

It's hard to walk away from the promise of a relationship, one she counted on, hoped through and finally gave up on. All of the "should have beens" and "what ifs" were pouring from her, today, in a tsunami of broken promises.

But no one should live in an abusive relationship. You won't find me writing a lot of absolutes like that, but I can't see any way around that one.

Here's what I wrote to her this morning:

I know how hard you worked to get to this goal, and how sad and scary it is.You did what needed to be done. Now you know the dominoes have all been placed and soon they will begin to fall and you feel like you will just be helplessly watching them drop, one by one.

In reality, you're not "just helplessly watching." Instead, I believe the fear and sadness are exactly what you're walking away from. And, whenever we walk away from something, we are also walking towards something.  

When my daughter left for college, she was so sure of herself, so confident, so ready... until the minute before we were actually about to drive away and leave her there. Suddenly, my incredibly confident and dynamic daughter started vomiting, which was followed by tears of embarrassment and finally complete, exposed fear and grief. Her true feelings were finally out. She was scared to death!

Of course this shouldn't have been surprising. She was barely seventeen. But she has always been very independent, and I just took her self-assurance in stride as part of who she was. 

In the minutes after she started crying, I held her as I had when she was very small. She said, "I don't have any friends here. I'm going to be all alone."

My reply might sound kind of hoaky in the light of a new day, but she has remembered it and brought it up more than once. I said, "Sweetheart, you have friends right yere. You just haven't met them yet."

Corny? Yes. But also exactly what she needed to hear.

So that's what I want to say to you. You are not just walking away from something, you are walking into your new peaceful life, and heading towards relationships that you haven't even imagined yet.

I don't know, yet, how my friend will react to my note, but I hope she will find some comfort there, and carry that into the days ahead. There is still the court proceedings ahead, and there will be custody issues and more hassles even after the moment when she is officially divorced. But in time, I'm hoping she will look to the horizon and walk towards what's waiting there for her, and will never look back.

I Was a Child

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I feel bad that I felt so alone, when I was a child, that my adolescent years were so confused and that my first sexual experiences were so far from they should have been. I feel angry. I'm working hard not to turn that anger on myself, and to remember I was a child.

At two and six and twelve and even seventeen, I was a child.

There were a lot of reasons why I continually put myself in danger, and why I assumed that everything that happened TO me was my fault. These reasons are still unfolding for me now. But right now, I am seeing that I was a child, and like all children, I passed through lessons to learn, not to be punished.

I can forgive myself.