Flashback Grows Up

Weirdest thing happened to me last night. Usually Xmas is a very rough time for me, stuffed with flashbacks and nightmares. Tgis year it’s been going swimmingly–none of that stuff until last night.

It was one of those dreams that go on forever, i hate that. Anyway, this dream started out like it has pretty much my whole life, chock full of incidents in which i am being sexually abused in one form or another…

And then, suddenlt, i was an adult. The other kids in the dream, various cousins who had witnessed these events over the years, were all adults as well. And Uncle Norman was both dead and in the room at the same time.

I was saying why doesn’t anybody get that this was wrong? My cousin Nornmie says it happened to all of us. I say it’s still not right and he shrugs his shoulders, says yah well it’s Christmas, look at the pretty tree.

It goes on like this forever. I, the adult me, says why isn’t anybody getting how wrong this was? Indifference in response.

Here’s how I am going to interpret this dream: I am an adult. Nothing is happening to me anymore, even though it’s Christmas Eve. I am safe now. My main concern is that nobody gets it, how horrid was the whole shebang.

Was. Past tense. I keep asking until I finally say well enougg from u people. It’s still wrong.

And then i wake up. It’s a big step I think, changing preoccupation in my sleeping mind from what happened to what is wrong with u folks that u won’t see it’s vileness. Deciding that it doesn’t matter if they get it or not. Still was wrong.

So yeah. Flashbacks do grow up. Cool.


Bullying is Nice and Packageable

It amazes me how many resources have been allocated from whatever other things they were doing to the issue of child bullying. As a lesbian, I was horrified but not surprised when in one week several gay kids killed themselves because of torment brought on by other assumedly non-gay kids. I was out as a teenager in the mid-seventies. It was not easy. I had other things going on in my life that made it easy for me to not really register the cruelty of my peers. But I was just lucky that they didn’t get to me, too.

There’s all this stuff about bullying, where do bullies come from how they’re all over cyberspace, what if my kid is a bully, how do I ensure my kid doesn’t become a bully. I saw something on twitter yesterday that said that over 70% of parents’ greatest fear for their children is that they’re a bully. Really, your greatest fear for your kids?

Celebrities have popped up all over the place, decrying bullying, contributing to support for gay teens, doing press releases and their celebrity thing. Donations donations donations. PR PR PR.

I will say this once and will erase any comments that ignore it: this is a very, very important social issue. Bullying is brutal on both parties. There is little protection a parent can give their kids if they’re victimized. Gay adults are bullied around by our government but kids–that’s just plain interpersonal cruelty at a very fragile time in a person’s life. I would never want to be a teenager again.

However. All this sudden and socially popular focus on bullies and their victims seems to me to be a tremendous luxury. Again–I am not diminishing the pain these poor kids have to deal with. There needs to be greater attention paid.

But when one looks from the eyes of a former child whose life was threatened and nearly taken, who has been thru horrendous sexual assault….I have got to say I find it all abit offensive.

Here’s the issue. Bullying is a new thing here, there are issues related to schooling children, teaching them compassion, fixing them if they’re violent little jerks. Is it the schools or is it the parents? Genetic? Tabula Rasa? These are questions that can be looked at without anybody’s hands actually getting too dirty. Oprah and Ellen and Alec Baldwin can stand up and say Hey There Don’t Be A Bully and it’s a neat little package. Sure, a few kids died, but nobody has to do any real soul searching, any digging up bodies, any dealing with mass wreckage wrought on little girls and boys by (mostly) people they know and trust. As has been going on since time began. Nobody wants to count the suicides.

Nobody has to deal with un-PC issues like sex trafficking, or RA or how survivors get thru their lives. That stuff is hard, the visual images and storytelling don’t really fit daytime or primetime TV. And who wants to hear about stuff that is so grotesque, so horrific such a nightmare.

We are out there, an army of CSA survivors. We tell our stories when we can, and many of us do. There’s an entire wing of psychology that tries to help us live the best lives we can from amongst the wreckage. There’s no secret, it happens every day. Every single day. To countless little girls and boys.

But despite our presence, nobody is going to galvanize in a couple of weeks a national effort to help us. There’s a line in the sand of what is dealable and what is not and nobody wants to see us. We’re not hard to find, it’s just…nobody wants to know. There will be an occasional sensationalistic thing on some tv show about a woman with 52 personalities and how weird she is. But nobody does a Purple Twibbon for us.

Where’s Ellen? Where’s Alec? Where are they? Patting themselves on the back for doing such a great job on the latest socially current fad. Where are the financial resources? Where’s the help? It’s sitting over here in my neighborhood, Heinousville. Just on the wrong side of the tracks.

Once again. I’m a lesbian, I think it’s horrid what kids have to deal with. There are always some cruel kids and there are way too few resources to help their poor victims. But I have waited for 48 years to get my cause to walk down the red carpet and get all the interviews. It’s sad and demeaning to get that you are just too dirty.

Get off your ass and save your children. Save your friend’s children. Package a Cause and sell it to America in a three=hour concert with texty donation setups. People are raping your children and you are not listening. Their lives are interrupted and stolen from them. Probably by somebody you know. Teach your kids how to say NO. To daddy, to mommy, to anybody who’s doing bad stuff or who says bad stuff. Pay attention to keeping them alive because a third of your daughters will face sexual assault by age 18.

What the fuck is wrong with you people?

How Can U Possibly Understand


Sometimes things happen to children that are just too much to understand. Things can happen that one wouldn’t come up with of they had a hundred years to imagine horrific treatment.

Imagine you are about 4 years old and you clit was sliced and stuck with an xacto knife. And somebody tried to rake off your clitoral hood but they couldn’t figure out how go do it so they stopped halfway, spit on you, and left you bleeding and alone in the dark.

If you toss this around in your head for a year you still won’t come close to how painful it is physically. How much blood is down there. How confusing it is. And you will never, ever be able to envision how much psychological pain you are left with 45 years later.

And there’s the gap. You will never, never be able to come close to understanding what it’s like. You might be able to diagnose me, tell me in various psychtalk phrasing to get over it. You may give me pills to make the blocking out easier to do.

You might say well but others may have had not that exactly but similar horrendous things happen to them so they know your anguish. Or all pain is the same, it’s painful.

Go back and try to imagine what this specific thing would be like. Imagine a huge hand pressing down on your face to keep you quiet or maybe to smother you. Imagine hearing grown men, laughing. Jacking off.

You can try and try and try but you will never come close.

You may tell me that it’s not a contest. And you’re right it’s not. But just try to imagine this horror happening to you.
Then you can tell me all about it. Until that time? I’d rather just be left alone

Permission to be Stronger

I have therapy homework this week. I asked for it, usually C will say go live your life then tell me about it. But this past Wednesday when I said just tell me what to think about this week I need a rest from my head, she gave me some. She didn’t just spit out a rote thisiswhatitellmyclientstodowhentheyaskforhomework kinda thing. She looked piercingly in the distance for a few minutes then started to talk.

She said think about giving yourself permission to be stronger. Give yourself permission to come into your own, to sort of give birth to the very strong woman who you are. She says I’d be interested in what you have to say about that. You don’t have to DO anything right now, you don’t have to CHANGE anything right now, don’t work that hard on it. Just entertain the idea and let me know what you came up with next week.

It’s a good assignment for me. I have lived my entire life from a perspective that dictates that I just respond to what comes flying at me. Good bad indifferent, I fend off the world. It saddens me to realize that at 50 years of age, some 38 years after my abuse stopped and nearly 15 years in therapy that I am still viewing the world from a victim stance. I asked her–my god when do I stop being a victim? She said you are very astute just getting that this is where your brain functions tells me you are beginning to get over it.

Whenever C talks about me taking charge of my own life I kinda freak. I know I do so because she will say wow check out your body language hon this is making you really anxious. Why is that?

It’s too much responsibility to have control over my life. C says you’re a successful businesswoman and after all that happened to you you’re still here. You have a relationship that might not be perfect but you’ve been able to keep it together for over 15 years and that is amazing. She says you’re already doing it, you are already taking control, you just don’t want to admit it. Why?

I say then I guess I don’t know. C says not so easy darlin’ you’ll have to think about it and open your mouth about it. She says I know it feels like you’re shooting in the dark right now but that’s okay because if you start to fall I will let you know and you can think about something else.

So here I am. My mind is going ummmmmm….got nothing. But there are some things I do know about this. I know that it scares me to let go of my primary perp. As horridly as I was mutilated by the man, he was all I had. I have the tendency to disregard my newborn health and progress as much as I treasure it. I suppose he has been with me my whole life and without him I still feel like I’m nothing. Nobody is there. Like shouting down an empty well.

As long as my perp has continued to strongly influence my behavior I am not alone. Somebody else knows what happened to me. And until I can really truly and fully let go of that self-perception as someone who was horridly abused as a kid and who had all these really horrendous things happen to her at least I have an identity.

For nothing will happen to me in the future that can have anything close to that kind of impact on me. Seems like my life was over at 12 when the bastard finally stopped going after me and just vanished into thin air.

And so I have held on to this identity I have some meaning in the world.

Just reading the words that are coming up on this screen causes me trememdous self-loathing, shame, a sense of being totally full of shit. Jesus. There it is again, victim victim victim. Even if it’s only me doing the abuse. This is what I know.

My readers will know that I am entranced by the concept of neuroplasticity. I see literal images in my mind of the old road and Springtime that’s new neural pathways. I’ve been having some great success with taking these gambles, and it gets easier to seek them out the more I do it. But this one causes me to completely recode my awareness of my place on the planet. From somebody whose only value is to be used as sadistic cruelty to an adult woman who controls her own destiny, who has tremendous power to determine her life.

So. How do I give myself permission to become myself? So far I’ve been doing okay trying to just change my behaviors and the messages coming at me from my mind. And then sit in C’s office and let her tell me the significance of acting as I have. “It’s your life, is that what you wanna do?” Yikes. I didn’t even know what she was talking about the first time the words came from her mouth. Now I’m getting an inkling of the concept. Scares the shit out of me.

One tiny piece at a time. This is the secret I suppose. So my little bit for the next few days is to think about letting that victim thing go. I can feel changes, a few at least. For instance, I no longer have to hang onto the idea that no one has ever suffered as much as I have. My entire life I have had to have “the worst” to justify my intense pain. Not so much any more. Not at all really. I now tend to embrace in my mere survival. I am comforted by not being so isolated, so totally alone in the history of my anguish. AS long as I was isolated from the rest of humanity I could remain some kind of monster. I am not alone so not isolated so not a monster.

I am a human being, a miracle of kids’ toughness and ingenuity. Just like everyone else on the planet. So I am much better able to establish an identity that is separate myself from other people in terms of human need. Boundaries? Son of a bitch, I have them. This is pretty damn huge for me.

As I’m typing I can hear the voices screeching. Now I can tell them to just shut up, which more and more often is working. I am like the first nuclear bomb test. Nobody knew if the thing was even going to work but by damn it did. And it changed the world.

Certainly there will be more to come on this topic but it is time to put it away for now. Because I said so. Because it’s good self care to put this away for now and go do something. I think I’ll take a little run.

Is What Is


So last night I wS watching this show on tv called Intervention. They follow an addict around for a few days then do an Intervention on them and send them away to recover. Much of this show is about how out of control these people are. And there’s always, always a trauma. Last nite the gal was date-raped at 20 and it completely devastated her.

Then this morning I get a thing in my invox asking how ppl deal with trauma anniversaries. I’m apoplectic.

I do not in any way intend to minimize anybody’s traumas in this post. I understand fully the magnitude of such life-altering experience.

But I willalso say that there is no way one can understand repeated or ritualized sexual abuse of young children unless one has gone thru it. It
S a scale of damage and horror that one can only understand if they have lived thru it

As my readers know I survived some really vile and dangerous abuse from age 2 tll 12-13. I have been raped or otherwise sexually traumatized some 35-45 times in my early youth. I have been Fu Jed by guns. Prostituted out. It just goes on and on and on.

And nobody can get what that really is. Not even close. Because it’s just unimaginable horror.

I’m so far beyond being livid just now. Single-event trauma has nothing to do with what I went they. In all my days on Earth I have talked w/a thousand survivors of single-event abuse. It’s tough and I don’t want to minimize that in any way. But I have met only two people in my day whose early experiences are similar to my story.

There are no relevant groups for ppl like me. I have been kicked out of a few groupsbecause of the atrocity leveling have undergone. Ilook at every shrink or therapist I’ve ever had, certain that they really have no idea of the real devastation of my soul.

It’s such an isolating thing. When you k ow that nobody, nobody can ever understand.

The End.

Rage doesn’t kill by itself

I made a pretty big realization the other day. For valid reasons I found myself in this towering rage that I’ve had sitting in me since the beginning of time. I have never been able to look at it because it seems directly linked to ghastly physical atrocities and the real possibility of my death.

What I have in my head are two main examples of this level of hatred: the hatred my pedophiles showed for me as they were committing these atrocities on my young little body. And the fury I came to feel toward them as I was being raped or kicked or had a gun shoved in me someplace.

This connection is so strong between my ancient history and that kind of rage that I skipped the verb in the assumption of grave danger. That is, somebody was DOING something dangerous and extremely painful while somebody (me or them) was feeling the fury.

My perp can do nothing more to me. He’s dead, died this slow agonizing death that feels like a shred of justice. And if that doesn’t happen again I won’t be feeling the intense anger at anything in the present-day world. It’s only the past.

This all ties into a neat little package when I’m reminded of that chronic suicidal ideation/thinking is always a lovely side dish for this fury. Because there were many times when I thought I could die at any second. I belittle the value of my life because it could have ended at any time. It’s a coincidence that I’m still here, really. He could have just as easily pulled the trigger.

So. I’ve no clue as to how to diffuse this tsunamis anger but at least I know I can feel it and it doesn’t mean that in seconds I may be dead.

The End.

Too much

I am going to mostly disappear for awhile. There has been too much stress put on the system and it has broken me down. I would sob if I could but I am not a crier.

I am floating. I am not attached to anyone or anything. Ground control to Major Tom you’re circuit’s dead there’s something wrong can you hear me Major Tom?


I have no fight left in me. Feel like a jackass for working so, so hard to feel “better”. But Better is a mythical beast. It casts out illusions frommtime to time that may glance in our direction as they whir beyond us.

All of the therapy and the breathing and the money and the running and the meditation and all the fucking piano…just a jackass trying to be “Well” when for me there is no such thing.

Last night my wife said it scares me to think of bow much anger you have inside of you. I said you cNnhave no idea. No. Idea. She nodded, pretending to understand and care. But she does neither really.

Who am I keeping myself alive for, anyway? Hmmm? Not for me, nobody else gives half a shit. Valid question yet again. We’ll just have to see how it all works out.

Danger afoot

I am spiraling into my Black Pit and I don’t know what to do about it. I am working hard to just not go there, not feed the beast. But it seems to be out and growing whether I look there or not.

I feel like I just want it to be over, the whole fucking thing. I am sick of fighting to keep myself within reason. I have been really great for over a month now. I know what this is, this train that’s heading at me blaring it’s horn, and yet I can’t seem to get off the track. I long for it to just run me over. Send me permanently into wingnutville, kill me, I don’t really care.

My mind is making these connections that it always does whenever I am here. One step leads to another to another to another and suddenly I am…down. Sucked into my own black hole, waiting for shit to get sucked down on top of me to crush me.

I haven’t been suicidal in rather awhile. Frankly I have been having too much fun. But the party seems to be over. My rational mind is saying there are going to be ups and downs, man. Life is suffering, and this is your reminder. I didn’t think it would be a permanent thing, feeling well. But I have seen this train coming for several days and I have absolutely no idea where it’s coming from. All I know is that C is going to dump me, my wife is going to dump me, and the end of days is finally upon me.

There’s this great quote from my favorite movie. John says “my god if I were to burst into flames there’d not be a soul to piss on me to put out the flames”. Richard says “let’s strike a flint and see”. And there it is. Not a soul would piss on me to put out the flames.

Basically I’ve been co-conscious for all this time I had been feeling great. Competent. Cabable. Growing. But the monsters have still been there, just reasonably under control. Suddenly though they have taken over. I am being pushed out of the way by the voices.

I know what C would say. She would tell me that I don’t have to go down this neural pathway that has been with me for as long as I can remember. If there is such a thing as remembering. Coping stuff, Terri. Slow it down, clean out your chakras. Balance. Baby steps. Why are you needing to hurt yourself? No “I don’t know” isn’t good enough. Calm down and think about it some more.

But I just don’t know man. I just don’t know why I am completely isolated from every living thing on the planet. I feel like everything around me is foreign. That nobody gives a shit about me, not even the cats who are now up and begging me for attention. I feel like there is a great distance, a fog between me and the rest of the planet.

When I stopped being raped at around 12-13 nobody ever said well it’s done now. It won’t happen again. I’ve just been…waiting for over thirty five years. I kinda feel like I am in a similar place at this moment. Is now the time? I have been waiting for it to be done all my life, is now the time I can finally be freed from the horrendous karma I’ve dealt with this time around? I imagine that in 47 days I can start over. Have a mulligan on the endless cycle of life and death. But I doubt that Universe is going to be compassionate with me. I’ll be a snake that somebody cuts in two with a hoe or something.

They say that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I am trying to keep this in mind right now. I know it isn’t true, that there is no permanence and there are no temporary problems.

I do have a repetitive scream that I’m able to identify. All I want is for somebody to tell me “I’m sorry”. That is all I want. But it won’t be forthcoming. This is a great big ugly thing and I suppose I am saying all I want is validation for my right to exist. Hmm, wait. I have faced literal death so many times, and from such a young age, it isn’t the same thing for me as it is for most people. It’s a very very real possibility for me. You can be killed at any time in any number of horrendous ways. You can find yourself with a pistol jammed up your vagina and the trigger can finally be pulled. That is unfortunate reality for me.

C would say it was reality. You are an adult now and you can control your pathways. You know that this is what you’re doing right? You have been here a million times. You are punishing yourself and the important thing is for us to figure out why that is.

Perhaps some of it is that as I have begun to engage with the world I am seeing what a fucking loss and pain in the ass I have been to every being who has come into contact with me. My poor wifey, poor dad. Yup, self-harm that is no less real than that gun was so many years ago.

I don’t think anybody has said I’m sorry because I don’t think I deserve it. Jesus, why do I have to keep coming here? Will this shit never end?

I feel compelled to state that Iamnotatriskofbeingaharmtomyselfortoanyoneelse. But man am I wishing for that pistol shot.

Cut panic w/Meditation, qi gong

I’m not sure what’s going on in the Universe lately but I’ve been asked several times about how to meditate and how to deal with being “stuck”. So in today’s lesson I am going to talk about how to cut anxiety thru the use of meditation and energy (qi) balancing.

Both of these practices have been in use for thousands of years. They’re not easy to explain as each person’s relationship with their qi and their mind awareness is unique. This can be made into a really complicated thing involving religion and blah di blah but this is just a common sense approach.

I use meditation and qi gong (energy movement thru the body) for as long as I can remember. So if I’m unclear it’s because I’m taking certain steps for granted. I’ll endeavor to not do so.

The first thing to be aware of when you’re beginning either of these practices is that there is a center in your body where your energy lives. It’s kinda like the powerhouse of the whole shebang. This center is called your tan den. It’s located in your lower abdomen, three fingers under your belly button. Think of it as a ball that expands when you put energy into it and contracts when you take energy out. This is the first step in any Chinese practice, to just be aware of your tan den. Mine is a sort of bluish-purplish with shimmery strips of gold that move around it. So close your eyes and imagine this ball. Just that it’s there. It is whether you believe it or not, so you might as well find it. What color is it? does it move around?

Okay, so now we know where your center is. It’s actually the center of your entire body. So now imagine that you’re expanding the thing as you breathe into it. Just fix it in your mind and breathe in slowly. Breathe from there, not from your upper chest. When you breathe in your belly expands. When you breathe out it contracts. Count to 4 as you slowly breathe in. Count to 4 as you slowly breathe out. If you just keep your tan den ball in your mind pretty soon you will notice that it does get bigger when you breathe in and it contracts and gets denser as you breathe out. This focusing in is made much easier if you are sitting with your back relatively straight with your feet crossed in front of you. The important thing though is that you’re in a quiet place where you can rest. Because that is what you’re doing.

Right, so you now can feel your center. Time to meditate. Just sit in the posture I described above and light a scented candle or incense or something that has a strong scent. Close your eyes and just sit there, breathing slowly, noticing how your tan den expands and contracts. Remember slow, full breaths. Count to 4 on the inhale and 4 on the exhale. Breathe thru your nose. Pretty soon you will be aware of thoughts, sometimes really weird thoughts, popping into your mind. Try to notice them or hear it if it’s a song. Then refocus your attention on the sound of your breathing and your center getting bigger and smaller, bigger and smaller. The next thought will come up. Notice it then refocus on your breathing and your center again.

It often happens that things that pop into your mind are disturbing and you are having a hard time letting go. You get caught up in them. This is the whole trick to meditation, why doing it is so calming. As you refocus your mind to your breath or your center you may find it impossible to do so. In this case, try to focus on the scent you’ve got going on from your candle/incense. Pretty soon even the most devastating thoughts will go away. Because it is what thoughts do. They come and go all the time, but if we linger on them they will stick around.

The whole point is to learn how to let go of our thoughts when they disturb us and cause anxiety and panic. If you’re in a flashback trigger, imagine how hand it would be to be able to make it just float away. Let the thoughts come in, notice them, then go back to your breathing or smell your candle. The thought will go away if you don’t focus your attention on it.

Often I hear people say well when I meditate I go blank or I get very disturbing thoughts I don’t want to think. All of these things are okay. Thoughts are only that, thoughts. They come and go all day long. But you can choose thru meditation to let them move on. Which will have an immediate calming effect on the worst anxiety-provoking thoughts. No panic-provoking thoughts no panic.

So now that you’re meditating you can also focus on moving that energy around your body, which is a great way to balance yourself and be an even stronger tool to let those nasty thoughts go. Close your eyes and inhale, imagining that energy is being sucked up from your feet up your legs to your tan den, making it expand. Then exhale, sending the qi back down thru your legs and feet way, way into the ground. Inhale up, exhale down. With some practice you’ll actually be able to feel the energy, like a slight tingle. Inhale up, exhale down.

Now imagine that you inhale qi up thru your feet and legs. As you exhale imagine the qi shooting out your lower back all the way around the world. Inhale and it comes into your tan den from the front. Exhale back down your legs and feet deep into the ground.

Ok. Now imagine all of the above. When your tan den has sucked your qi in from going around the world exhale and send yhour qi up your back and thru your head, way way up into the sky. Inhale and bring it down thru your front to your tan den, which has expanded as you do so. Then exhale the qi down your legs and feet, deep into the ground. This is called a route. Routes are important because they balance your energy all thru your body. I could talk about chakras and lots of other stuff, but this is the basic point of the practice.

This is not an easy skill to learn. I took instruction from my sensei for two years before I really got the idea. But I have been meditating all my life and I will tell you right now that if you meditate twice a day, even for ten minutes, you will be able to much better control your anxiety level.

It works whether you believe it or not, so you might as well give it a go. Some days it can be easy as pie and other days it can be torturous. Is what is. I still have days when all I am picking up is some old disco song or whatever. If that is what my mind wants to tell me on that day, is what is. It’s really important to not judge yourself, to not think it’s good or bad or you feel like an idiot or whatever. Remember, these are only thoughts. Put your mind on other things and they will vanish.

Trust me on this one. Give it a couple of weeks and you will start to see a difference in your ability to control your anxiety. Have fun 😉

Painting my Soul

Long ago in a land far, far away, I was in my twenties and my PTSD hadn’t put me to a full stop yet. I was a Marketing Consultant, pulling in a ton of cash working for myself and basically living the life of a young affluent city gal. If someone at that time would ask me what I was I’d say I was a painter. It was what I loved, I made money on it…it was just who I was.

Once the PTSD brought my life to a screeching halt in my mid-thirties everything in my life basically stopped. Except my painting. It morphed into angry, screaming drivel yes. But I kept doing it because it was the only thing giving any oxygen to my soul.

I hung onto painting because I was never allowed to express creativity when I was a kid. I was “gifted” in those days before the category was created. I was smart, so smart that I was attending college courses in grammar school. My parents decided to keep me with my regular class and not advance early because I exhibited chronic socialization problems. I didn’t seem able to form bonds with kids teachers anybody. They assumed it was because of my braniacism and not the sexal assaults that my mother consistently denied. So while my sister was able to draw and color and play violin I studied. Bitch. I never even owned crayons.

Anyway, for my 22nd birthday my girlfriend at the time took me to an art supply store and set me up with oils guache brushes the whole nine yards. Trying to think about what to possibly paint the first time she told me that it didn’t matter. That whatever I painted no one else in the world could paint exactly my vision and that was what creativity was all about. I fell in love with it immediately.

Anyway, I’ve had a few fairly successful shows but for the most part my stuff is Impressionist which is not a popular style these days. It doesn’t matter to me if anybody else likes my work as long as I do. And I’ve done very few things I don’t adore.

So I’ve been happily painting along until about this time last year. My therapist at the time was on me to bring something in for her to see. So I brought in this really cool still life that I’d recently finished. She said wow I had no idea how cool your stuff is blah blah can I keep it I was so shocked to get any kind of reaction from her of any kind so said sure. I mean, I can always paint more, right? Right.

The next time I was in her office my painting was leaning against the wall I would stare at, straight ahead of me. It stayed there for nine months, until the day I fired her. For other reasons than this, but it did have an impact on me, this cavalier disregard for my stuff.

Today is the first time I have picked up brush to paint and canvas. It’s like blissing out. I can’t really describe it, I just paint what I see and there it is. My old self-portrait of a hundred individual tiny little slivers all rimmed in black no longer applies. I’ve only just started this one but most of the black borders are gone. There are still alot of us,. 42 I believe, but the lines of delineation between them just aren’t there for the most part. That tells me that what I am feeling internally, that there’s actually communication going on, that the littles are gaining shape and that things are very confusing. The littles are feeling things for the first time and even though I’m not finished with it I can feel them there. I recognize everybody, which is also a great surprise.

So there it is. I get my creativity back. There used to be a single internal, the Painter, who did it. But today it was a thing by committee. Parts that have never known of others’ existence are deciding on color texture and all the decisions you make when you’re painting in oil. The best part of the whole thing is that I gave this back to me. I gave the best part of me back to us. Cool breeze.

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