this is NOT my work, but I follow International Art Therapy on FB. I believe in art therapy. I use it all the time. I saw this posted on their page, and I thought…boy is that the truth.
On my way to sketch the painting, I got distracted…again, putting off the work (which is common when its facing darkness in the self, or pain) in favor of organizing. But, it was good because while organizing, I found all these things that the “other person” gave me for my work. You see that person is ‘envious’ of my talent, and has expressed their desire to prove to themselves that they can paint as well as me. Instead of recognizing me as good at my skill and my talent, they have to prove me no better than them. how’s that for ignoring you as a person? This is my mom… she has to do better, she has to point out the other person or another person having talent too, rather than let me stand in my entitled sunshine. She has to piss on my flower bed and scratch me.
So there, in my studio space, are books, and supplies, and saved styrofoam, and saved plastic bags, and magazines…all things she has given me. Things I am to hang on to. Things that she will ask about to make sure she still has a footing in my life, my studio, my talent, my choices, my emotions and mind. .. sigh. And I feel bad about me!? Because I look at the “gourd art” and realize, I don’t want to do this. SHE wants to do this. Not me. SHE should do it. I want to do MY art, my way, for me. Its just another way of controlling from the narcissists perspective, and I? I am a mean, horrible, child, a bad daughter, a bad person, because I see it and call it like it is. I have not created anything from my soul since 2014 because I’ve been tip toeing around her and the child she prefers.
I even hear how I am supposed to be ‘sorry’ for the sibling that hates me. For the sibling that yells at me and points at me, out of her fear that I will rob her of stuff promised to her by the mother. Stuff I don’t want, don’t care about, and don’t need. But she’s so damaged and so narcissistic herself, that all she can see is that I’m a threat, because when I was 2 years old I needed healing care and eyeglasses for being born nearly blind. It took the parent, the mother who saw me EVERYDAY of my life, TWO YEARS to notice I was nearly blind, and then it was pointed out to her by her mother. SMH. SMH. SMH….but every time I accomplish something…its secondary. Every time I feel something, its secondary.
So in the chaos of organizing this mess? If it came from her as a means of keeping me from the paints, or from the wood carving or the metal? m Its going in the pile for give-away. Because I don’t want to make gourds. I’m not going to knit or crochet (unless I choose to), and I don’t want to string beads, I’d rather sew them or mosaic with them. I”M NOT YOU…and my sibling is NOT ME…and I wish to GOD you could see me as a person….here…in front of you…a whole being…!!!! see me??
But you don’t. Instead you look at my clothes, or my size, and you judge me. you look for the flaws and something to measure me by and you go right past the person with feelings and thoughts into your projection on to them…. and I feel sorry alright. For you both, but no more sorry enough to let you poison my life with your bitterness.
I will die in your world. I’ve dragged the knife across my wrist a couple times in my life. I’ve downed the pills. I’ve planned the death by car, all because I could never be good enough to be seen as a person all by myself. Always compared and reduced to fit the image of her, or my sibling, or my dad. ARGGGHHH….
my soul bleeds from this shite.
I will paint. I WILL. Don’t doubt me. I WILL. I have this pattern in my life, always holding back, waiting for things to be perfect to have ‘earned’ my right to feel and express. In that family, nobody was allowed feelings unless it was her and that sibling, they were allowed to hurt and abuse me because their spouse abused them. ARGGGHHH…
Pain. And punishment. When the desk is gone, because its her desk and I’ll be reminded of that every occasion allowing such, and her magazines, and her gourd, and her plastic bags, and her blood in my veins, and her…and her .. and her….
She’s going in the painting. So is the dad, and so is the sibling… all of them will be there.
When the time is ripe. I will begin. In the meantime…I’m getting rid of the stuff that is NOT me, but is the other person’s plan for me, instead.