Shortly after I started a separate Facebook page dedicated to spreading awareness of trauma suffered from Childhood Sexual abuse I received what was possibly the best compliment I have ever been given.
One of my very first followers told me she wanted to “Paint my words.”
I will never forget that.
I had started writing only a few short months before and her way of expressing her relation not only to my story but to the way I was telling it helped me to not delete the page numerous times. We have had several private conversation since and she sent me updates as she created her artwork.
I was humbled and grateful that anyone would take the time to do such a thing and thankful for this new connection in my life. When she sent me the finished product I was overwhelmed by the intensity of it. She managed to somehow capture what my brain feels like on my worst days and put on canvas what terrifying isolation of our own making looks like.
Last night she sent me this amazing poem to accompany the painting. I used to fear connection more than anything. My very real anxiety has kept me in a world of isolation.. This page has showed me more than once that I can never go back to living that way again.
Thank you Lusus, for capturing what for so many of us is a distorted and complicated reality, for painting my words and for sharing yours.
What is this feeling that persists? Is it a void, does it exist? Is it a place or a state? This image, this idea, this fear I cannot resist… Is it a variable or a position before a placement? A personal trap or a natural encasement? A transitory period where one is lost…Will it take my mind, my spirit, what will be the cost? Is it eternal or infinite? Is it internal? …Sometimes singular, other times multiple and rude and informal.
My talent is now my worst enemy. Where did I develop this destructive creativity? Birthing fears in darkness in a state of uncertainty. Eventually forming on the solid ground of creation and entangling with time. All of it is mine and none of it is kind.
It’s alive. Breathing. Bleeding into me. Out of me. Sharing my nerves, my very same veins, Where my body reluctantly strains, Straining against what is to come.
Fear, do not force yourself upon me. When will I be set free, from this phantom standing before me? Can I just wish you away? Must I make you tangible to free myself of you? Do I have to remain the prey? Can you stay far and faded from my eyes?
(Do you not care about that girl that cries?)
Tingling and tugging at all my senses, Setting them all on fire. A cold flame, always rising higher. It surfaces from the void. That place. That eternal variable, unshakable. And when it all leaves…perhaps not too late. Perhaps I have not accumulated too much hate. I follow the strands of time. Away from it all, But it is all a web. How is this supposed to be shed?
It is entangled with me. I am doing my best to untie it from around my heart, from my guts, from my brain. Sometimes I think I have. For a while I feel sane. I feel lighter but I know I am not. I am filled with time and space And that cannot be fought. Its particles flowing and showing, New images growing…I ride the wave, the wave rides me. I want to be brave. I want to be brave…