On my 'to do list' (before I return to Italy) is to go through the boxes I left here in my closet. This morning I peeled 5 layers of tape off the top of the box labeled "sketchbooks". These images are from a book I made in 2004; right after the person I was with committed suicide which was also just after I began therapy.
It makes me feel sick to look at these images now and to know in such a much more clear and much "closer to the surface way" what it all means. When I made them I did not ever look back at them; I remember not even wanting to touch the pages. These were collages I made just weeks into my therapy and I was just "bursting at the seams" with the need to tell my therapist about all my father had done to me.
I realize now I should have started this morning with something a little easier- like the box labeled "winter clothes".