Here is the first Sweet Pea, in four shades. I decided to use Zinc White, since it is more transparent, hopefully showing more of the pigment, to mix with three different blues: Cobalt Blue, Prussian Blue, and Phlalo Blue (Green Shade). Wow did that last one pop in the white! First I painted the latter in as veins, then the Cobalt Blue/Zinc White mix as petals, then the Prussian Blue/Zinc White as highlights, but they were not really light enough, so I used Titanium White, which was a bit scary, but turned out all right in the end, I think. ?
I cannot tell you, and I thought yesterday was a hard day because of the physical pain and flashbacks, in fact the last seven days for flashbacks really have been hard to function through? but today and last night? I had to wake Jason up around ten PM because I new memories of abuse that made me want to get numb and drink HARD. Whoa. Not to mention I couldn’t get to sleep. That was the least of my worries. I was so mad I wanted to break things, fortunately not me. Sometimes I want to break me, you know. But this was not the case this time. Thankfully.
This was not abuse by a member of the family, although a member of the family was in on it. Which of course makes me even angrier. I was in middle school. I can’t even effing describe it or go into it further of course, even though I think the abuser is dead. I checked the white pages and there is only one person, a man, with this name in the whole US of A. Yet. Yet. I cannot say.
I didn’t tell at the time, either.
I have had the very hardest time functioning today, although I did go and get a prescription that I very much needed for pain for my back. But I had to work through flashbacks and shock and anger and near crying, because I will not let myself cry, except in therapy sometimes, in order to paint today.
Still very very angry. I keep seeing what happened and feeling trapped in that man’s car seeing what he did. Sigh. Effing a.
I emailed my counselor last night and today with details of what I remembered and Friday’s session seems like forever away. I do see my psychiatrist tomorrow for the quarterly med visit, but … that’s not really a helpful consolatory therapeutic venting kind of thing, the five minute check. Still, it will be good to let her know.
It just kills me that this guy walked around all this time and was successful and I even blanked this out and saw him later in life and even hugged him at the junior prom and hung out with him like nothing. I even liked the fellow. Like nothing ever happened. Oh … my … God. And now I remember it like it just happened, like now. I could just shake him or slap him and I definitely pushed him off of me at the time, and was smart enough not to fall into his trap. The trap that he and my family member at the time had set for me. It was like they were pimping me out to him! I just can’t believe how easygoing this thing was, like nuts! Like nuts!
Shameless, and these people walked around like nothing with their public images and all this behind closed doors.
Me with my splintered memories and brain storing it inside these little neural chambers somehow.
On a different note, I realized last night before anything else, kind of the tip of the iceberg, before a different memory surfaced of me crying in a too small red sweater dress … thinking I was too fat, before Mama realized, hey you need some new clothes! you’ve grown! … so before that and before that … I was listening to the IPod and I laughed at how much easier it is now that I have healthy self esteem, laughed at that, that I can go and have lunch or a coffee or go to a museum, with a friend and exchange how are you and how am I, for real, not competitive, not insecure and frightful when will it end before it began … just easygoing friends time … these past ten years? whereas all that time before I didn’t know how friends worked.
How friends were kept. Nourished. Maintained. Established. How one had fun with friends. Wow.
All that time before. All those friendship opportunities. Lost. What a frickin crime.
So I was emailing my counselor that, and then about the too small red sweater dress and how I cried and cried in seventh grade about that (when I hardly cried even then) … and then like thirty minutes later out popped this old memory. Like … boom … him picking me up like it was nothing … in his expensive sports car and driving me around … etc. boom …
So. I really like the painting. I have tons of ideas for the novel. I spent a lot of time intensely processing this memory today and I’m sincerely hopeful tomorrow will be the better for it. Sometimes it works that way, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it lasts for a long time, out of my control.
We can hope. I’m still excited about the New Year. Ready to Live. 🙂