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blank spaces

when i first started painting i thought everything, absolutely everything, i painted had to cover the entire canvas, i joined deviantArt and saw that a lot of artists whose work i like often left blank spaces in their paintings. i honestly thought it was very daring. i commented on it to someone who had a painting like that and i think he was chuckling at me when he replied, “i’m not the first person to do that, you know.” i felt kind of silly, but decided to try it. i was learning to do things differently, to break barriers that i thought were absolute. the first time i did it, i actually felt daring!

after that i started to do it a lot. i even moved on to painting minimalist works. that actually is kind of daring. this is one of my favorites….

Back Camera

i started thinking about it, and realized that i had a lot of blank spaces in me. there are huge spaces of time in my life that i remember nothing about. there are a lot of things that happened yesterday, or the day before, or last week or a month ago, that i can’t recall. it’s disturbing to think about.

when i was drinking heavily it happened on a regular basis. i’d wake up at home, in bed with my clothes on, not even remembering leaving the house to go out drinking. it was terrifying.

i’m sober, maybe not quite, but i only take the things that are prescribed for me. but there are still these big spaces. some might attribute it to my substance abuse damaging my mind and causing these losses of time. i wouldn’t rule it out, but i think i have a different explanation that feels more like the real culprit.

my mother was abusive. some of the biggest chunks i’ve lost are memories of my life, both as a child and as an adult, that relate to the amount of hell she was putting me through. there are other traumatic things that are hidden from my memory; but sometimes things break free and make me feel even more damaged. not surprisingly, i have PTSD.

i think embracing the idea that i have to step back and see ways to do things that i didn’t realize were possible let me start to let go of the weight of the blank spaces in my memory. i’ve been disassociating for almost my entire life. but now i need to move on, let go, break free from the past.

i think i’ve done enough digging through the past, during the 20 years of therapy, that it’s time to leave the wounds of the past in the past and continue making new memories. 🙂

yay!

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losing time in kindergarten

one in a series of square 12″x12″ canvases. my artistic endeavor was not really my big bright idea, i saw the canvases for an excellent price and it went from there.

i had a difficult childhood…abusive mother, father working all over the world. i developed serious substance abuse problems.

i don’t have very many childhood memories, but i think i’d like to keep it that way. this series of paintings is about different events/stages/journeys/atmospheres…etc etc that happened during my life.

this particular one is about sitting in kindergarten, disassociating minute by minute. square life series 3, losing time in kindergarten

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i want a cyborg body!!!

my head and heart and body feel empty. i just can’t get my eyes to focus. i’m listening to Arctic Monkeys. i’ve been obsessed with them for a long time, like six months. damn i love my repetition. repetition is like a brain massage.

i was desperate for diet coke, badly enough that i went out and bought some. that’s how desperate i was!. i don’t leave the house and don’t drive, but i needed some diet coke STAT!!so i did it! i managed to go to the store and get my carbonated thrill. 🙂 i think i’ve sucked down three already.

i feel like i might be getting better, if only a tiny bit.

i’m still feeling the pot cookie. everything seems so clear and sharp.

chronic pain sucks! getting out of bed hurts, i want a cyborg body. 😀

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depression relapse

i have physical symptoms from stress/anxiety. right now it’s muscle cramps, incredibly painful. they show up mostly in my back, but lately it’s spread other body parts. i use flexeril (a muscle relaxant) for it now, have been for ages. but since the cramps keep coming back because i need something. i emailed my PCP and asked for her to talk about the problems, so we’ll see. right now i’m taking too much of the flexeril and will run out too soon. she’s usually super nice though, and responds to my mails very quickly.

i’m feeling sort of, stuck, i guess. i feel empty and have no motivation…

i guess i don’t need to wonder. the last 6 months were like climbing a mountain, i climbed a little more each day until

i reached the top and fell down the mountain, i think it’s a lot to do with the surgery. i feel so bad, so guilty, because peter is doing the laundry, cool, cook dinner and breakfast, does all the errands. i think he’s getting unhappy about it. thanks to mom for the guilt!

i’ve found myself starting at the wall for a long time. i don’t even remember what i was thinking or how long i was doing it. i have lots and lots of big empty spaces of time. bizarre.

i’m a medical marijuana patient and my dispensary delivers because lots of the patients are people like me who can’t drive.or can’t leave the house, because i have agoraphobia. i got a cookie and a brownie. and some buds. the edibles are great for pain or stress.

when i went to get the money out of the bank, i realized i had to go to 7-11 to break one of the $20s. i got up the counter and didn’t have the $20 bill anymore. i guess i dropped it. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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my daily schedule

i got through with only one panic attack.

i spent some time going through old memories that  i had. remembering all the times i was trying so hard not to see what was going on.

i spent a long time trying to decide if what he said was making fun of me, or mean, or disrespectful to me. i searched his face to see if he was lying. i constantly misunderstand my dad.

i watched an episode of parks and recreation.

it felt like i was getting weaker by the second. i remember what i used to think about when i saw old people; and being terrified of them because i knew i would be that way.

i’m 44, but i feel like i’m 84.  my health is appalling right now.

i don’t like to think about anything upsetting,like realizing that my arthritis would give me chronic pain in my knees. not to mention diabetes. it’s been out of control for a very long time. l’m so depressed and stressed. i’m seeing things out of the corners of  my eyes. i can’t seem to imagine looking in the mirror and see anything that would make me feel better.

i heard every bump and thump and engine noise or children laughing in some way that make me want to smash my head on the wall! scary noises and scary silence.

and i still couldn’t cry.

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going to the airport

back when i could still travel, andrew and i decided to go to ireland. it was our first trip there. we were both into irish history and art, so we decided to go. we even splurged to stay in a castle owned by the Guiness family. it was a dream trip. i couldn’t wait to go.

the morning we were leaving i was wired, felling stiff as a board, consumed by anxiety. i felt guilty because i might be ruining it for andrew, who loved to travel. he’s the most mellow person i’ve ever met. traveling was a breeze to him,so he was able to be there for me. i guess that’s why we work so well together. opposites attracting, and all…

i sat on the sofa in the dark at 5 am, surrounded by everything (hopefully) that i couldn’t do without. that took up 3 suit cases and two carry on bags. (we were only going for a week!) my right arm developed a terrible muscle cramp that just would not relax. it was so painful i cried. andrew reminded me over and over that it was anxiety that was causing the pain. i shivered there, clutching his hand and crying.

ireland was wonderful, the castle was wonderful, but i wonder, was it worth it?

btw, does anyone else get physical symptoms from anxiety? (i do a lot.)

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waiting

there was a time when i was so bored, lonely, and depressed that i sat in a recliner and waited for my husband to get home from the time he left for work until the moment i heard his car coming into our garage. two hours before he usually got home i sat in silence, waiting to hear the garage door going up. every time i heard a car drive past i hoped and wished so painfully that it was him.

earlier in the day i started calling him, asking him to come home early. i called him over and over, crying and panicking. i got angry every time he said the wrong thing, or didn’t want to stay on the phone for hours, just listening to me cry.

if he didn’t arrive as soon as i thought he should get home i got hysterical, sure that he was dead on the highway, crushed by an 18 wheeler. i sat in the dark , crying so hard that i could taste snot on my lips.

it was a miserable way to live. looking back, i’m surprised i didn’t die or end up alone for the rest of my life.

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lady gaga and my mania

i’m sitting at my desk trying to be patient, waiting for the pain meds to kick in. i had surgery on my left hand a couple of weeks ago. i just took a long nap and missed my the time when i was supposed take my percoset, by an hour. my mind wanders back in time to 10 years ago? maybe not that long. i can’t remember.

i was sitting in the room my husband and i share, my half was my “studio” and half was his gaming room. it was 3am, the loneliest time of night. peter (husband) pushed the door open gently, so as not to frighten me (anything unexpected could throw me into a panic attack). and asked me to turn down lady gaga. i hate lady gaga, but alone with my mania and anxiety, she seemed like the door to a party, another thing i hate. but it seemed like the thing i desperately needed. action! people everywhere, loud music, coke all lined up and an imaginary drink in my hand

i hadn’t taken my meds for at least a week. everything was out of control. i stayed up all night drawing, drawing with colored pencils. pages and pages of partially finished drawings lay in piles on the floor, all around my desk. i was sweaty and i hadn’t changed my clothes in days. i gritted my teeth and pressed down so hard on the pencils that the sharpened tips broke off over and over.

his eyes were squinty and he shivered in just his boxers.he asked me if i was ok. i didn’t know if i should laugh, scream, or cry.