Saying hi :-)

Cuz’ I’m happy with how it turned out.

Pencil on paper, digital coloring.
Subject: me. LOL

(And yes, I have buck teeth. Awful.)

LolaSmiling02

When words fail you, make art

No words. Just art, illustrating how I feel. To stay sane.

BPDZentangle

Do you like it?

 

Taking it easy today

Yesterday was a tough day, with all the thinking and writing about my sexual healing journey. I am okay, but I noticed I need to be careful when I ended up dissociating later in the day.

If you want a rather unusual glimpse at what can happen when I dissociate, here’s some dissociation art. I had just planned to draw a zentangle to calm down and focus, and it worked for the snail shell. Then I started with the little hearts. And kept drawing. And drawing. And drawing . . .

Dissociation Art

Pretty impressive. So today I’m going to take it easy. Focus on some good things. See if later I feel up to some journeying, but if not, I won’t and will rather wait another day. We’ll see. I really want to keep it positive and all that.

I hope you’re all having a good day today.

My New Mantra for 2013

This is me, looking as happy as I feel today, along with my new-found mantra for this year. I’m determined to hold on to it.

BeYourOwnRockstar

(Drawn with a no 2 pencil, scanned, then colored and processed with photoediting software. Because you all wanted to know that. I’m sure. Admit it.)

Childhood Sexual Abuse – a picture poem

The upcoming holidays are triggering for me. I know it and in recent years I tried to hide from it. That didn’t work so well. So this year I have decided to look it in the face and get ahead of it, maybe. Who knows, it might steal some of the thunder. And if not, at least my therapist is going to be proud of me.

That’s a childhood picture of me – one of the few G-rated ones in existence, and the only one where I didn’t know I got my picture taken. The look on my face is 100% genuine and mirrors the way I felt better than words could.  I scanned the photo, edited the background out and put it along with a little poem I wrote to go with it. (It reads top, bottom, left, right.)

 

Child Sexual Abuse 3

Riches – a lighthearted poem on a little everyday insanity

Riches,Riches poem1

It’s a poem I wrote in response to a show I saw on TV about how people go Christmas shopping. It’s meant in a fun and lighthearted way, but I think it’s got a little truth at the core.  Since the picture turned out a bit small to read it well (and I also made some spelling mistakes), here is what it reads:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riches
by Lola

Riches, riches people gather
spoon of gold and couch of leather
expensive car’s no luxury
tinsel in the treasury
who has got the biggest jewel?
is the question that is fuel
to the common man’s desire
which makes him withstand hell and fire
on his eternal quest for more
losing sight of solid shore.

The sea of riches will fulfill
man’s addicted strive until
the grass next door seems greener still.

By the way, it doesn’t matter
what kind of riches people gather
as long as they collect with greed
stuff that they don’t really need
just to show off their possession
or – respective – their profession.
The thing itself is not of value
(Of course that’s not what they would tell you!)
It’s other people’s praise they seek
– what other people about them speak.

Which in itself does not give credit
to self esteem (well, if they had it).
A content life? They can forget it.

This is the truth you must endure:
Gather riches and stay poor!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In my approach to see the good things about Christmas, I wish for everyone to keep in mind and to appreciate the things that really matter in life and to remember that those are rarely found under a tree! 😉

I have a new header

Having been bored for most of the day, I decided to toy some with putting together a header, to pass time. I don’t know how well I did, it looks a bit cluttered and like narcissim central up there, but hey, my blog is about me, so I figured I might as well put drawings of me up. Also my brain is about as cluttered as the header, so I don’t know, I might leave it there for a while until I come up with something better.

Drop me a line to let me know what you think of it! 🙂

Rip Me, Rape Me ~ a poem

Please take care, it’s a poem about childhood sexual abuse and can probably be triggering.

And if you can’t decipher my scrawl, here is my poem typed out:

Rip Me, Rape Me
by Lola

Rip me, rape me, suffocate my youth
Steal away my innocence
Humiliate my truth

Mutilate my body, rip it into shreds
Kiss me with your blameful lips,
Manipulate my head

Tie me into knots that you know I can’t undo
Threaten, make fake promises, enslave my heart to you

Dress me up in shame and guilt – turn love into a sin
Force your body into mine – I’m your garbage bin

So as I lay you have your say
We both know who you’re killing
You tell me this is what I want
And of the void you’re filling

And when I dare to speak my mind,
Mom, your voice is chilling
You look me in the eye and say:
“It’s not rape when you are willing!”

What I am Thankful for – Poster

Okay, so I’m hiding away behind a laptop to kill time, hoping the holiday will be over and done with soon. Mom suggested I find things I am thankful for instead of griping about how much I hate Thanksgiving, so here goes. A digital scrapbook page of thankfulness.

A Painting that Describes my Situation – possibly *TRIGGERING*

First of all, sorry, everyone who looks, if this painting is disturbing or triggering. I woke up with the mental image – me on the stairs looking down at what’s beyond – on my mind and I could not get rid of it. I felt the compulsion to draw/paint it. I don’t know why. Maybe to turn it into a real picture. Maybe to share. I don’t know.

So anyway, that’s what I ended up with:

 

It’s pretty much what you see. Me, feeling pretty small, sitting on the top of a staircase that leads down into some creepy basement, looking down, feeling uneasy, yet glued to the spot, pondering, doing nothing. I try to think, but my mind refuses to comply.

I guess the symbolism doesn’t require a shrink to figure out. It’s looking pretty nasty down there. The colors speak for themselves. Behind me, there is light, but my back is to it. I don’t see it. All I see is what’s in front of me, down there, but only from a distance, because I’m not going down there either. No way in hell, me thinks, and I freak a little at the thought.

I talked about it with my mom, and she said she wonders if that doesn’t describe my current situation quite well. It’s no secret that I’m traumatized – PTSD doesn’t fall from the heavens after all – and I have some sort of an idea of what happened, too. But at the same time I don’t want to look at it. I’m quite content dealing with the BPD stuff, leaving the PTSD out. But at the same time I’m getting nowhere. There’s so many good stuff, lots of light (like my family now, and I could probably be doing a lot of things), yet my back is turned on it and I can’t go there, because I’m sitting, at a safe distance, my feelings neatly cut off, staring at the possibility of going down there. Down where the crap is.

 

Just staring. Nothing more. But nothing less either.

My mom says she thinks just turning my back on the basement, going into the light and living happily ever after ain’t gonna happen. How could I just step away from the basement, when it’s not a real one, but one within me? She’s got a point there. She says in order to be able to let go, I’d need to make trips down there. While being safe and feeling safe, this time around. So I can look around. Integrate parts that I have split off. Take away its power to instill terror. And in the end, come back up for good, close the door and step into the light.

Sounds so easy in theory. Is so hard in practice.

So I’m still sitting. Pondering. Frozen.

Scared.

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