Thursday, November 3, 2011

Mental Cement

When I look back on the past 5 weeks, the landmark theme has always been Boundaries.  I had been skipping in and out of a relationship that needed some firmer Bedrock to stand on. This blog and I have the perfect relationship; we connect when we need to and have an unconditional understanding of love, as long as the keyboard doesn't freeze -then things get ugly!   My blog supports me, and though I'm not here to create a fan base, I appreciate each and everyone that takes a look.  My biggest critic has always been me, and through the Brave Girl classes, I'm turning myself into a fan, and lay off the critical stuff.  We can be sooo hard on ourselves can't we?!  I came across this lovely place to vent; a rubber room where I can bounce Creatively and stay safe all at the same time. Safety has always been an issue for me.  I discovered in the first part of my soul restoration, that it has come up too many times to remember.  There was a time when I actually started to go to my creative space to relieve some of fear that was bottle up inside, when I felt like I couldn't talk to just anyone about what happened to me.  Now I'm re-discovering that young girl, and hearing her words for the first time in a couple decades.

When I was younger, some 20-ish years ago, something unspeakable happened, something that just should not happen.  To anyone.  I was left there afterwards,cold and scared and determined not to show my fear.  I Hurt and grieving, I turned to inward, like many of us do to heal wounds.    I could Not bear to face what had happened to me.  Did not open up about it., but instead turned the experience around and decided  if I helped other rape victims. While I helped other women, at first I didn't know how to take my own advice I was giving to all these girls. I finally got to a point where I had to face my own pain in order to teach other women to see and face their pain.  Pain is the best teacher, as if a part of ourselves will need to forgive that other part that is hurting, grieving, in order to move on.  I did this by writing.  I wrote scads of poems, journal entries, stories about what happened, until my fingers were numb.  I wanted to write until I could turn into an innocent bystander, a third person party that just happen to read about my story instead of be part of that story.

 I wrote this poem when I thought there would never be a color darker than the color of my heart.   No place could every be as cold as the one inside me.  Then slowly, over time, my heart began to thaw.

Will Pandora save her box for me
stark white with rubber walls.
Where all the problems I have faced
would seem like none at all. 
Tell her to find a golden lock
and throw away the key
For if I let my feelings out
I'm sure that she'd find me.

I can't remember how to see
the evidence so clear
For all the reasons that my ♥
would be so full of tears
Just tell Pandora, "Hurry"
for I fear my time is soon
Where all my past, my future
will be locked inside my room

Even though many years have passed, I truly feel I didn't address that cold place until now.  I got into relationship after relationship, hitting the same wall when the situation got to a certain point, I would freeze, morphing into that cold, lonely place again.  I went to tons of support groups, read gazillions of books but nothing could take that Victim title away from me.  What would happen if I actually started living and loving life?  I'm not used to that!  Let's just stay in this dark place; even though I hated it, it was a familiar place to go -even though I thought my life basically sucked rocks, at least I knew the outcome.
Fast forward to my 48th birthday.  A day I decided it was time to have my life stop sucking.   It was.Time. I found this odd little video of Facebook of this gal that like this crazy bohemian cowgirl that was stinking Spot On with what she was yakking about.  She was full of unicorns, rainbows and the unadulterated truth that we were all knuckleheads, and we were worth living for!  I looked around for a hidden camera over my shoulder, as this was too bizarre to just randomly happen. Right?!

 I was sitting at my jewelery bench, my laptop in place of my soldering tools that hadn't been touched in years.  Over the last few years, the times I tried to sit at my familiar spot and create beauty and art like I did onceuponatime  was few and far between.  I made excuses and justifications better than a thief on trial.  This happened, that disappeared...always another reason to do everything But my artwork. It was a very neglected space over the last 8 years, when I sat repeatedly awaiting some jolt from above, some Di ine Intervention finding nothing but white noise and an itchy butt from sitting there waiting for response from the gods. Then It happened - I started to find Me again.  I found these hippie chicks, these Brave Girls actually said things , lots of things I could relate to.  Other women just like me felt Less Than and Stuck.  I wasn't alone anymore.  I'm sharing with likeminded women in acrossthe country, and together we're growing.  Together we're learning to add color to our black and white worlds.  I'm actually painting!  Creating!  Thinking about things other than medical this's and that's and actually using energy in different, more constructive ways.  Yippee!
I started to play with the notion of using mediums that I was unfamiliar with.  This was a very similar experience to feeling the emotions I wasn't familiar with.  Gratitude, Honor, Love - things I felt for other people, but it never dawned on me to actually apply them to myself.  I painted this picture to my left out of sheer pain.  I honestly was amazed the paints didn't run from the tears mixed in! During this little crazy time, I realized that these hidden traits were keeping me from my very own process of creation in the literal sense, and also figuratively.  For through this painting I realized that I had been hiding myself, my talents, my  title I held onto since childhood just naturally took hold of me as an adult.  I unknowingly grew into that undeserving Victim status as an adult,creating and re-creating a blob of mush. Now, the mush is starting to clear and I'm not only putting gesso over the darkness, I'm shining a new light of Happy.  The inspiration for the painting I did to the left, was from Botticelli, with the face cut out, symbolic of what I felt like; blank and raw.  The face on the left is the "good" side of me.  I painted her freehand, as it is someone that I was not too familiar with, but I have to admit., she turned out beautifully.  The new found Me that is bright, positive, skippy and playful.  The darker me isn't entirely awful, like a secretive ax murderer, just a sad, tired droopy drawer girl with no where to go and no one to play with. boo.
When I finished this exercise, the world truly became My Oyster.  I looked at the things I truly wanted and thought that they could finally be attainable.  The dark droopy, Debbie-Downer girl was a facade.  The real me is full of all things bright and lovely.  I help zillions of women so that I can help me find that force that won't take on that role anymore. I found Me.

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