June 30, 2008
I had therapy this morning and now I have things I want to do and but I am having a hard time functioning.
June 28, 2008
This was not a nightmare (A dream arousing feelings of intense fear, horror, and distress.).
This is a real part of the story of my past.
On Friday I was talking to my doctor about the first time I became pregnant by my father. The first time I was 14 and it happened once again when I was 17. When I was 14 I had a miscarriage at home, in the middle of the night. Scared and confused I woke my mom up and she took me to the emergency room. I have talked about this before- with my doctor, with Stefano, with friends. But on Friday I told the story without a second of pause and not as though it were some far off dream but this memory that I have been needing to say for the past 16 years. I described in detail the night of the miscarriage. And about waking my mom up. And about going to the hospital. It was so familiar- thoughts I have had a thousand times but it was the first time I had ever used words to describe the pictures in my head.
There is a way that all of these memories are at first too large. Too large to grasp in one moment and I have found that what I do is take some little part of the memory (because the whole of it is much too big and much too painful) and repeat it over and over.
This is what I am repeating in my head since Friday morning: When my mother took me to the hospital I went into a regular emergency room exam room. Then I was taken into another room. I was WHEELED on a bed into a SURGICAL room. And what I keep going over and over, what I keep trying to understand how I could have the knowledge and memory of this feeling without the horrible explanation that I wish were not the truth is: When I was taken into the second room, the surgical room- it is hard to type now with all the water pouring from my face- I remember being lifted. I remember being lifted from the bed that I had been wheeled into the room on, onto another surface. Not a bed. A table. But the part I am obsessing over is the moment of the lifting. I remember being like a small (14 year old) mummy wrapped in white hospital sheets. And there were three other people there. Someone lifted me by the sheet up behind my head and somebody lifted the sheet at/around my feet. But what is troubling me the most (it is not even what HAPPENED NEXT- BECAUSE I CAN NOT EVEN GO THAT FAR IN MY HEAD YET)- what is troubling me is that there was another person. There was a third person. The third person was on the other side of the (my brain feels like it is being torn and knotted, torn and knotted) metal (torn and knotted, torn and knotted) table. And when the two (tearing and knotting) people put me down (tearing and knotting)- me at 14- my fourteen year old body- my 14 year old body that had just miscarried the child of my own father- when the two people put me down in the sheet on the table the third person was there to help push me back and center my body on the table.
And this is what is really nagging in my head: I remember EXACTLY the EXACT feel of that other person (the third person) I remember feeling that person's hands through the hospital sheets as they pushed me back and directed my body toward the center of the table.
That is what is trouble me. Not what came next, not the vacuuming, not the pain, not the sound, not even the feeling that my whole insides were going to be sucked right out from my body- that is not what is torturing me right now anyway- not YET now anyway.
What is torturing me right now is that feeling, that memory of those hands; pushing me at my hips back towards the center of the table.
If all of the rest was a dream that I have thought of hundreds of times how would I KNOW the feeling of being lifted up in that sheet and the feeling of HANDS PUSHING ME AT MY HIPS BACK TOWARDS THE CENTER OF THE TABLE.
THOSE HANDS PUSHING ME AT MY HIPS TOWARDS THE CENTER OF THAT TABLE.
Five weeks from now Stefano and I will being having our first dinner together in our new apartment and Lloyd and Winston will be walking around the apartment wondering how they are going to learn to speak Italian.
June 27, 2008
June 26, 2008
June 25, 2008
Example 1: Too close to the camera.
Stefano (who loves to listen to very very heavy rock music) has offered to take me to the Rossini Opera Festival on August 9! Juan Diego Flórez is performing that first night of the festival!
Stefano is incredible. Really. Opera is really not his favorite kind of music (not even close).
He is the most generous and loving human being I have ever met. Seriously.
The only thing better than seeing Juan Diego Flórez at the Rossini Opera Festival is the fact that Stefano is so incredibly wonderful that he has OFFERED to camp out half the night before the concert so that we can get tickets to the performance.
Just 37 more days until I can squeeze that wonderful sexy guy who keeps asking me the same question every single day.... ;-)
June 24, 2008
June 23, 2008
Today I told my Dr. about how my father used to yell at my sister and I that we ate too much. He used to become angry with us and say we were eating too much of HIS food.
Today I told my doctor that when I was in middle school I started hiding food in my bedroom because I could not get enough to eat to feel comfortable without getting yelled at for eating too much.
I really don't even know what else to write or say or type about this right now. I feel so incapable of tolerating/knowing/thinking about the sexual and physical abuse that it really does just scare me that even the emotional part feels so incredibly intolerable.
I am not going to do it but I feel like calling my mother on the phone right now and absolutely screaming. Why did she let him do all of those things? Why didn't she just put my sister and I into the backseat and DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE us all away from there? WHY WHY WHY? I accept the fact that me mother is/was like a child and was also being abused by my father- but she was still an adult!!!!!!!!! And between her, my sister and myself: SHE WAS THE ONE WITH THE CAR AND THE CAR KEYS AND THE LEGS LONG ENOUGH TO REACH THE PEDALS.
I feel so sad. I feel shaken and sick; I could go on. But I am going to stop myself for now and I will go on as I planned with my day. There will be no revenge. There will be no justice for what my father did- not in this life anyway. All I can do now is cry and have my grief and grieve it and go on. I have about four errands to do before I go back home- all of them related to my getting ready to move to Italy in just five and a half weeks.
So I will go on. I will go on as I planned; I will go on and be even stronger. There is no undoing what has been done- there is only the present and the future that I can change or affect and the only thing I can think to do that will ever make any sense of/from what my father did is to go on and finish my therapy and recover and live my life and make my art and tell this gruesome story through images and words and explain how I survived (am surviving) in hopes that in telling all of this it will somehow help another person.
June 22, 2008
The planet Venus forms a pentagram in the night sky every eight years with it returning to its original point every 40 years with a 40 day regression.
"Forty days & forty nights" describes the period for which rain fell during Noah's flood.
The code for direct dial international phone calls to Romania is 40.
"Afterward, when they had stopped for a moment to allow Tip to rest, they saw forty roads branching off from their feet in forty different directions; and soon these forty roads began whirling around like a mighty wheel, first in one direction and then in the other, completely bewildering their vision." from The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum
And this is so good: Rostropovich playing Shostakovich Cello Sonata Op. 40.
June 21, 2008
Creating the row of tabs took a long time and I feel unsure about how it looks- even though I like what it does.
OK... I am going to try to walk away from my computer now... Except just to check email. Please leave comments if you have any suggestions on how I might make it look better. Any help would be much appreciated.
June 20, 2008
Chopin Waltz in A-flat Op 42, played by Dimitris Sgouros in Queensland, Australia, February 1989.
The angle for which a rainbow appears.
The atomic number of molybdenum.
In 1965, mathematician Paul Cooper theorized that the fastest, most efficient way to travel across continents would be to bore a straight hollow tube directly through the earth, evacuate it (remove the air), and then just fall through. The first half of the journey consists of free-fall acceleration, while the second half consists of an exactly equal deceleration. The time for such a journey works out to be 42 minutes. Remarkably, even if the tube does not pass through the exact center of the earth, the time for a journey powered entirely by gravity always works out to be 42 minutes, as long as the tube remains friction-free.
The Orion Nebula is Messier object M42.
"At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out `Silence!' and read out from his book, `Rule Forty-two. ALL PERSONS MORE THAN A MILE HIGH TO LEAVE THE COURT.'
Everybody looked at Alice.
`I'M not a mile high,' said Alice.
`You are,' said the King.
`Nearly two miles high,' added the Queen.
`Well, I shan't go, at any rate,' said Alice: `besides, that's not a regular rule: you invented it just now.'
`It's the oldest rule in the book,' said the King.
`Then it ought to be Number One,' said Alice."
from Lewis Carroll: Alice's Adventures In Wonderland
June 19, 2008
43 (The 14th smallest prime number, the Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd is exactly 43 minutes long, G.W. Bushy is the 43rd president of the U.S.)
These shoes are magic. Walking has never been so good and I almost have to MAKE myself turn around and come back to the house because I want to build up with my time and not just be out walking for hours and hurt my legs or feet or something.
The magic shoes? OK... Here is the link... But let me warn you (if you do not already know about these shoes) once you know about them you should go to a store near you that carries them and you should try them. And after you try them you are going to want a pair. After I ordered mine online I was like a little dog waiting for the UPS man each day and I can still see him coming up across the shimmering green grass just a few days ago with a russet paper parcel against his chest... OK, OK... Here is the link to the MAGIC SHOES.
While I am out walking I am trying to use that time to try to work on learning more Italian. I have a little deal with myself where I listen to music one way (for the first thirty minutes) and then Italian lessons on the way home (the last thirty minutes). It is hard for me to take in the whole lesson and sometimes my mind wanders off- but I am doing the best I can. People in this neighborhood probably think I have lost my mind. I am walking around in a pair of completely strange looking shoes, wearing shorts and tank top, exposing my whiter than white legs and all of my tattoos and talking to myself in an Italian that probably does not even sound very much like Italian. Oh well. Stefano has asked me to marry him about 45 times in the last three days and so I feel like it is finally time to really commit myself to learning the language. :-)
Tomorrow I have therapy and I have very mixed feelings about that. I am hoping I will sleep better tonight since I just walked. Today I went through art work I made when I was in college- intaglio prints mostly. I will try to post the pictures of them tomorrow. Arrivederci!
"The fires were increased, the screw revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the valves." 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea by Verne, Jules
I am in the process of going through all of my belongings and getting ready to move to Italy. I took all of my artwork to Italy several months ago and left it all with Stefano already. Now I just have a few larger drawings that I need to figure out how to take and a small mountain of sketchbooks (there are about thirty actually). Anyway- it is PAINFUL to get out the sketchbooks and pack them up to take with me. This morning I was looking through this one (the second image is the cover of the book) and I saw this drawing (the top image). I was working in this sketchbook at the end of 2005 and I was drawing about the exact same things I am now.
There is a lot of wishful thinking inside of my mind but the story of the past always stays exactly the same. And that is just really painful and really hard to accept.
June 18, 2008
June 17, 2008
I have had problems in the past with sleep and/or going to bed at night. Some of the problems have been and/or include but are not limited to: "Oh my god I can not tolerate the sensation of the sheets against my skin", "I do not want to sleep because I can not tolerate having another nightmare that is not really a nightmare but instead a memory/nearly photographic image of my father fucking me" or "I do not want to lay down because I am afraid I will hurt myself if I remember the feeling of his feet against my skin"... Now I have a new one. A new reason I do not want to go to bed. And it is not really about bed... It is about seeing. I do not want to close my eyes. I am not so much having a problem with sleep as I am having trouble with the IDEA OF CLOSING MY EYES. AS IN: I DO NOT WANT TO DO IT.
The answer- the reason- is so obvious and so sad it makes me sick- SICK!!!!!!!!!!!... At some point when I was still very young I realized it would be better to be awake for some reasons when my father came into my bedroom at night because at least then he would not surprise me. It was better to wait. It was better to plan and to KNOW he was coming- it was terrible to be caught off guard. I would wake up with him over me or... something terrible I will not even write it here... and was it real was I dreaming was it a nightmare and I need to believe this man is not my father!!!!!
All those nights... and my mom was just in the room right next door. For all of those years.
This post is a mess - oh well. It is 12:05AM here but 6:05AM in Italy and I am writing and trying not to call Stefano before 7AM and wake him up crying. I am going to be the best girlfriend I can and wait another hour before I wake him up with my crying! I have one more hour to wait and I guess I will take my medicine and draw while I wait for the time to go by and then I will cry and then I will fall into a twisty and anxious sleep. This morning Winston jumped on the bed at 5:40AM and it scared me awake and half out of my mind and I could not close my eyes again. Just a funny little orange cat.... this time anyway.
June 16, 2008
June 15, 2008
Right now I am in the process of getting ready to move to Italy and so I am sorting through boxes, stacks of papers, piles of photographs, etc. Yesterday I came across a quote that I have always liked and I read it, smiled, then put it aside. Suddenly tonight- like the flick of a light switch in my mind- I thought of the quote and I finally really KNEW what it meant. The quote is by Marianne Williamson. It is this:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
I suddenly thought of that first line tonight and thought, "It is true! It is completely true." My deepest fear is not of my inadequacy, but of my own true strength within.
Many times during the past four and a half years of therapy when I mention my "drowning" feeling my doctor has said to me something like- Stand up- the water is not so deep where you are.
He is right. He has been right for a long time but I just was too scared to hear. The water is not so deep where I am. Stand up, he says to me Stand up and you will see that you are not drowning. I finally realize now that I CAN just stand up, I do not have to lie here- And not only will I not drown- not 'lie here'- but I can and will and AM walking out of this water.
Now all I can think tonight is that the truth- however painful- the truth really is setting me free. It is true and it is happening. I am not drowning, I am not a prisoner of my father and not even of my own mind anymore. The truth- the truth about what my father did- the truth about what I had to do inside of my own head in order to save myself from him- it really is painful in a way too large for any words I know. It has been a LONG four and a half years and I have spent a huge amount of that time just 'tolerating' my feelings. And just 'getting through' until the difficult feeling pass. But I have reached a great place in the path that I am on and I am now strong enough to draw more, to write more, to talk about the details of what happened to me at the hands of my father and especially to try to work more on understanding how it is that my very own mind works.
As I physically prepare to move to Italy I realize that I am mentally ready to move as well. Not only to Italy- but FORWARD. I still have a huge amount of therapy work to do and a whole lot of tears to cry- but I am stronger now. I have been 'getting by', 'tolerating pain' and 'waiting for the painful feelings to pass'. Now I SAY when I am hurting. I say out LOUD to people near me when I am hurting and I draw whenever I want. And I ALWAYS want to be drawing.
I AM FREE.
June 14, 2008
June 13, 2008
June 12, 2008
June 11, 2008
Yesterday I received 2 comments on this post and I just wanted to take a quick minute to answer those comments here: 1. Thank you for your comments, 2. Yes. and 3. Thank you; no one has ever told me I am 'brill'. ;-)
Part of the reason I wanted to write something about the comments was because this is a really important part of my therapy and my working to understand better my own mind and I have really struggled for years and years with the idea that I have different ways of thinking and I am just now beginning to try to not be angry or feel like I hate myself when I even think about this true fact that my mind is in fact (very) 'divided'. So yes- the different images and the different styles of drawing do correspond with the 'different ways of my thinking' and it has taken me more than four and a half years of therapy to be able to really even admit to that- let alone to begin to try and actually look at what I have made and read the meaning. (I have been making art for most of my life and then quite literally 'hiding' it from myself somewhere so I do not have to look at it because it is usually too painful.) I am constantly becoming more and more aware of the different 'ways' I have of drawing and also how different parts of my thinking make not just the same 'styles' of drawings but also use certain imagery over and over again.
For example- if you look at a bunch of my work (there are over 200 of my drawings here on my FlickR page) you can see that there is this "shape" (see above images) or something very similar to it repeated in several of my works. And I have just very very recently (last week) realized that this 'image' I keep creating is a symbol for something that happened when I was just 12. When I was twelve years old I became pregnant by my father for the first time (I later become pregnant by him one more time when I was 17) and I had a miscarriage at home and the was taken to the hospital by my very own mother/abusive father's enabling partner. Anyway- the miscarriage happened and I have a memory of holding a somewhat small and sort of bloody clot/lump thing (which is hard for me to write- but I am sure was a tiny dead fetus) in the palm of one of my hands and then- (dear universe I am going to write about this here in order to try to disperse this enormous suffering out of my own little body and into the much larger world because the pain is too much) -and then I flushed it away- down the toilet. I can not think of this for even one second without crying... and then I begin to think of the abortion that my 'mom' actually made an appointment for and drove me to when I was 17 and I guess that was just another 'chunk of medical waste' as well. My apologizes for poor grammar and or punctuation and for cutting this suddenly short- but I suddenly feel ill and can not tolerate to think of this any more right now. Sorry. But thank you for reading my blog and for commenting.
I have so much stuff to do that I have lists of other lists I need to make. After I type this I need to organize all of those lists into one huge and ordered 'master list'.
Then I am going to sew and draw today. I will post pictures tomorrow. I made a little black sundress a few days ago and I have been planning to take a white fabric oil pastel and cover it with tall skeleton images/drawings... but I keep putting it off because I am worried I will somehow "mess it up". I hate that. I hate it when I am scared to draw because I am worried I will not do a good job. I think I probably do my best drawing when I just work and stop worrying about the outcome; knowing that if I drew for 20 hours a day for every day for the rest of my life I would never run out of paper or fabric or pens or markers. :-)
I am going to draw on the dress today. If I do not love it- I will just make another. I will post pictures of it tomorrow. :-)
June 10, 2008
Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life's ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.
June 9, 2008
It all began when he came out one morning
and found the dog waiting for him behind the wheel.
He thought she looked pretty good sitting there,
so he started taking her into town with him
just so she could get a feel for the road.
They have made a few turns through the field,
him sitting beside her, his foot on the accelerator,
her muzzle on the wheel. Now they are practicing
going up and down the lane with him whispering
encouragement in her silky ear. She is a handsome
dog with long ears and a speckled muzzle and he
is a good teacher. Now my wife, Millie, he says,
she was always too timid on the road, but don't you
be afraid to let people know that you are there.
The dog seems to be thinking about this seriously.
Braking, however, is still a problem, but he is building
a mouthpiece which he hopes to attach to the steering
column, and when he upgrades to one of those new
Sports Utility Vehicles with the remote ignition device,
he will have solved the key and the lock problem.
Although he has not yet let her drive into town,
he thinks she will be ready sometime next month,
and when his eyes get bad and her hip dysplasia
gets worse, he thinks this will come in real handy.
June 8, 2008
June 6, 2008
"A night club in Las Vegas is honoring Kevin Federline by naming him "Father of the year". It was a very tight race, the runner up was the dad in Austria who kept his kids in the basement."
He then went on to say this:
"Of course that weird Texas polygamist sect is back in the news. They were in the news then they were out of the news and now they're back in the news. Ah... I've already mentioned this but I'm very unhappy that they are back in the news because I believe that the polygamist wives are stealing my look." He then showed photographs of the women that he was referring to on half of the television screen and his face on the other half- comparing his hairstyle to theirs.
All day long I have been writing letters in my head to Conan O'Brien and the writer's of his show. There is no such thing as a joke about children who are being raped or abused. I am crying and mad and it just makes me sick because here I am working a full time job, 24 hours of every day of my life trying to recover and there he is making "jokes" in front of hundreds of thousands of people and has their attention and this is what he does. He should be completely ashamed of himself and apologize. This sort of thing makes me feel extremely sick and sad and ashamed of the human race. People doing things like this make the incredibly hard job of recovering from abuse even harder.
SHAME ON YOU Conan O'Brien.
June 5, 2008
At the concert I made a drawing in my sketchbook of my father raping me and it is completely scary to even look at.
Tomorrow I am planning on not leaving the house.