December 30, 2009
Regular posting will resume shortly.
I miss writing here and I will resume again in a few days.
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blogged
December 22, 2009
Drawings. Stefano. Holiday.
December 21, 2009
December 20, 2009
December 17, 2009
poem.
You Are Happy
a long way down over the raw stone,
ice crusts around it
We walk separately
along the hill to the open
beach, unused
picnic tables, wind
shoving the brown waves, erosion, gravel
rasping on gravel.
In the ditch a deer
carcass, no head. Bird
running across the glaring
road against the low pink sun.
When you are this
cold you can think about
nothing but the cold, the images
hitting into your eyes
like needles, crystals, you are happy.
by Margaret Atwood
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poems
December 16, 2009
poem
| The Land of Story Books At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Story Books. by Robert Louis Stevenson |
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poems
December 15, 2009
December 11, 2009
1. Untangling. 2. miniragepage. 3. NOTE TO THE CONSTELLATION. 4. unburdening
Should I be glad that my mind is divided? Does it matter if I am or not? Tonight I watched the video from the wall drawing project that I made in Venice and watching it I felt _____ and _______ and also _________!!!!!
This week I asked my doctor to tell me again why it is so painful to heal. I already really know the answer, but I wanted to hear it in a new way. He pointed out how I was sitting there in a warm coat and a scarf and I was still cold. And how when I had started to work with him, six years ago, I would come to his office in the dead of winter wearing a light jacket and seem ok. BECAUSE SIX YEARS AGO I WAS STILL PRIVY TO THE PLANET OF: I LIKE TO/NEED TO BELIEVE I DO NOT HAVE A BODY OR FEELINGS. Now I am more aware every day of having feelings and a body and often it makes me feels scared and sick.
Fuck. I feel like such a loser in so many ways but then I think that is a father-imposed role that I have refused to let go of because not being a huge fucking failure would mean knowing too many painful things about the past. And if I did not think of myself as a huge fucking failure, then I might very well be led to sit in front of this image and KNOW WHY I MADE THAT BLOODY FUCKING PAINFUL DRAWING.
The still images of the wall drawing are a little hard for me to look at, but like all of the rest of my work- I have always sort of been able to think 'maybethatisntreallymineIhope'. And that is really how I have always sort of felt about my own mind. And my body. And my art. But now there is this growing consciousness in me and about who I am and tonight I was watching the video of me actually making the drawings on the wall and then morphing them into other images--- and some parts of me want to run away- and that is how I have mostly responded to the pain and the conflict and the shit truth about the shit past in my mind. But I am not really trying to run away from the past now or the present even- even though it is hard for me to hold my mind into the now.
But what does it mean, what does it mean... I feel like my whole body is in some kind of shocking pain and... Wait. What if I stop hating myself. What if I stop promoting the bullshit propaganda lies my parents nailed into my head and what if I started thinking the exact opposite of their shit message?
Dear Jenny, You are not crazy. You were abused and NONE OF IT WAS EVER YOUR FAULT. I love you. Love, Jenny
This week I started to read "Secret Survivors: Uncovering Incest and Its Aftereffects in Women" by E. Sue Blume. When I first read the "aftereffects list" (at the top of the list it reads: "Do you find many characteristics of yourself on this list? If so, you could be a survivor of incest.") and responded "YES" to all of the 34 items on the 34 item list- I did not speak out loud for several hours. And after a few days of painful contemplation and consideration- I reported to my therapist yesterday that it is item #25 on the list that is really bringing me the greatest amount of relief amongst the pain of the past and the memories of that past that are in my present thoughts now.
So in the name of progress and healing and recovery (and rage) it is item #25 that I am going to let go of first. And it is this: 25. FEELING CRAZY. There is actually a longer explanation to point #25, but I have felt so crazy for so long... WHAT A RELIEF TO READ IT, TYPE IT, THINK IT AND SAY IT OUT LOUD. INCEST MAKES YOU FEEL CRAZY. Until finally one day it doesn't anymore. And oh, by the way then, that reminds me...
ATTN Rapist: I am thinking about working my way through the "aftereffects checklist" as I continue my path of healing and I just thought I would give you a little "heads up" because #24 is where I am headed next (What a fantastic relief it will be!!).
#24. FEELING OF CARRYING AN AWFUL SECRET.
December 10, 2009
Head.
Here is something about having Dissociative Identity Disorder that I have never written about on my blog before: Switching between different 'ways of being' is kind of scary. Also: I often feel like my head is going to fall off. There is this dizzy feeling and then... different thinking. Oh... and this.... Lol. I love this. Really.
The video quality is not very good but Mikhail Baryshnikov's dancing is just incredible and I love the music and Helen Mirren crying while he dances is just... great.
December 8, 2009
Exactly how it feels after rape.
The Radioactive Ball
by Carole Simmons Oles
I caught it
and screamed for water.
and screamed for water.
Someone carried a pail,
I plunged my hands in.
The water boiled.
I wore violet gloves beaded with glass.
Now what do I do with this water.
How can I pick the pail up.
Where should I set it.
How to turn doorknobs and enter rooms
and not lift my child
Is it too late to cut them off.
Where will I bury them.
If I burn them, who
will breathe the air of their burning.
Throw them into the ozone.
Ship them to Mars,
these death hands.
No pockets will have them.
December 5, 2009
The obvious answer.
Since I have been having such a hard time making my work I have decided that I am going to move to the North Pole. And work for Santa Claus. And use copious amounts of GLITTER.
December 4, 2009
December 3, 2009
Holiday craft sale!
My therapy was incredibly painful. Cry-in-the-car-on-the-way-home painful.
My art therapy group is participating in a group craft show and I am thinking about trying to sell some t-shirts with drawing on them in the sale.
And maybe while I am drawing out dinosaur t-shirts I will make one that reads: RAPISTS SHOULD BE CASTRATED AND PUT IN JAIL.
Enter Herb.
I want to cry because I so much do not want to go to therapy today. Something happened yesterday at my art therapy group that brought up a HUGE AMOUNT of 'things' and then last night I had a very painful dream. And when I talk to Dr. C about all of this it is going to result in a VERY DIFFICULT AND PAINFUL PAINFUL session.Enter Herb. He will be accompanying me to therapy today.
I fucking hate that I have to work so hard to recover from all of this garbage that never should have happened to me in the first place. I fucking hate it.
December 2, 2009
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