I discovered last night that a nice taupe is made from pale pink mixed with Burnt Umber straight, which I added to the borders here and there, along with two patches of Naples Yellow, for now. I deepened some petals with darker pink, then lightened them today, heh. Now, the real change for the day is that I’ve added REDs to and Burnt Umber veining to the upper left of the painting, and something you cannot see, which I may accentuate, the to the lower middle left, a pale pink rose, just below where two veins cross. Hmmm. ‘Tis nice to keep her, methinks.
I submitted Of Spontanaety, the poem from 2005, to Agnes Scott College, my alma mater, this afternoon. They are having a contest of sorts, among Alumnae poets. We shall see in late February if I make it. Fingers acrossed.
A great deal of physical pain today. Argh.
And counseling was very productive, which can and today means that I have been journalling with some great deal of deep emotional and psychological pain as well. Forsooth.
See, over the weekend, I discovered perhaps one of the deepest personalities I have found thus far, not counting toddlers and such that remember all sorts of toddler sorts of things, mind you, good and bad. Traumatic and otherwise. Ahem. No, this one calls itself, and rightly so, “the deepest hurt place” or the “most hurt place” … it’s similar to as if lightning had struck there and, well, you’d always remember that place rather well, don’t you think, and perhaps as if the lightning had struck there over and over twice a week for two years? Yes, that would be the deepest hurt place. Thank you, Mr. Babysitter.
So, when there was trauma before, it was not quite up to that hurt really. When there was pain and trauma after tho, it reached that deepest hurt place awful quick like a lightning strike, like, I’m most sensitive and tender and tough and painful there all at the same time. That would be the PTSD. Yep. I found it over the weekend. She is PISSED! So my counselor said to let her journal for quite some time.
See for the past few days, as I was describing yesterday, stranger in a strange body/land, it’s been harder than usual to walk and stuff. Because I found her. She can’t see. She’s deep down in there, you know. She’s focused on some bad stuff. And everything after.
She needs to be walked and soothed and loved through it. Jason and I will do our damnedest. To be sure.
Which is why I feel like crying and screaming and so restless and in shock, like every other second, especially at night. Agh.
Fun! So, I was saying that everything after, like even movies, like even when the icemaker goes off or people are chatting upstairs or outside she’s on edge. That would be the PTSD.
Effing A. My counselor just said keep journalling until I get her to transform away from the body so much to the SPIRIT. ‘Cause she’s way down deep in deh.
I can do this.