Showing posts with label the children speak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the children speak. Show all posts
7.05.2008
the magic erasers; party of (?)
Jenny is here. I am so happy.
I cannot even express my excitement.
I will be posting pictures of everything soon enough.
The only bad part, the city we are in has these terrible pro-life billboards everywhere and they make the people cringe when we see them.
Adam and Eve surprised me when I arrived with a bicycle that they picked up from the thrift store before I got here and it is beautiful. Jenny brought goodies one of which is an amazing quilt for my room at school with sheep all over it. I slept on the top bunk last night snuggled underneath it. She also brought other wonderful treasures like a Lloyd suitcase, I mean it is so beautiful, the magical hunk of kitty cat goodness painted on to a suitcase. What more could a girl ask for?
I am really glad I am here and my brain is having a hard time sorting things out so that I can somehow write about what good times I am having but this is so difficult because in my brain there is so much happening and we are overwhelmed with all things oriented from "home" and at the same time there is so much happening here that is good like Jenny and I painting a mural for the coffee house which is really difficult because a.) when you stick two dissociative people in a room with a big white wall and say "draw", you should already know it is going to be messy but when b.) the owners of the wall happen to be two people who are incredibly beautiful people with an idea about what the wall should end up being, it makes things messier.
So after much distress and pencil scribbling Jenny and I came up with a plan, stick to all things garden-related (because a French Impressionist painting of two girls in a garden is what Adam and Eve had in mind for the inspiration) and section off a piece of the wall using garden lights and only allow ourselves to draw inside of the section. This is an incredibly brilliant but awareness-provoking experience.
First, there is a bunny on the wall, in the garden next to flowers and while Jenny is resisting her urge to go and draw the intestines on the bunny; I am arguing with her about my need to keep the garden lights a stop sign and traffic light even though I know Adam and Eve will hate my traffic light because it won't make any sense to them and would just look funny and strange and off-key. They came in though, a little after 10pm last night and they seem pleased. I hope they are. Jenny made me erase the stop sign and traffic light and after about an hour of discouragement we found these wonderful devices called Mr.Clean's Magic Erasers.
Please allow us to add that it was when we found the Magic Erasers that everything became all better. On the way home Jenny and I came to a conclusion about these and realized that we really want a huge Magic Eraser for our lives and that is why it was such a mood-lifter when we found them for the dissociative mess we had on the wall. I know that I am not making very much sense because I am simply not thinking clearly about most anything these past few days. I have so much to figure out about my family life (both internal and external), about my education plans, about the play that we've been writing, about how in the world Jenny's going-to-Italy-to-be-with-the-love-of-her-life is going to mess with the systems of thinking, about finding monologues and trying to plan for the Humanities Project and all this jazz and the fourth of the July was yesterday and I was completely reminded of my last fourth of July experience and I was with Jenny then as well and it was beautiful because maybe a day later we were sitting underneath a huge war-monument that read, "FREEDOM IS NOT FREE." We all still feel this way. We hid from fireworks last night and tried not to let them bother us, because we don't want to be horribly emotional or weird or dissociative or PTSD-ed or any of that other stuff that usually accompanies this childhood sexual abuse and rape- aftermath, thing. What a messy messy place. Boy, Oh boy, Mary Poppins, What would we do without faith?
we will write more soon.
love, we the people
I cannot even express my excitement.
I will be posting pictures of everything soon enough.
The only bad part, the city we are in has these terrible pro-life billboards everywhere and they make the people cringe when we see them.
Adam and Eve surprised me when I arrived with a bicycle that they picked up from the thrift store before I got here and it is beautiful. Jenny brought goodies one of which is an amazing quilt for my room at school with sheep all over it. I slept on the top bunk last night snuggled underneath it. She also brought other wonderful treasures like a Lloyd suitcase, I mean it is so beautiful, the magical hunk of kitty cat goodness painted on to a suitcase. What more could a girl ask for?
I am really glad I am here and my brain is having a hard time sorting things out so that I can somehow write about what good times I am having but this is so difficult because in my brain there is so much happening and we are overwhelmed with all things oriented from "home" and at the same time there is so much happening here that is good like Jenny and I painting a mural for the coffee house which is really difficult because a.) when you stick two dissociative people in a room with a big white wall and say "draw", you should already know it is going to be messy but when b.) the owners of the wall happen to be two people who are incredibly beautiful people with an idea about what the wall should end up being, it makes things messier.
So after much distress and pencil scribbling Jenny and I came up with a plan, stick to all things garden-related (because a French Impressionist painting of two girls in a garden is what Adam and Eve had in mind for the inspiration) and section off a piece of the wall using garden lights and only allow ourselves to draw inside of the section. This is an incredibly brilliant but awareness-provoking experience.
First, there is a bunny on the wall, in the garden next to flowers and while Jenny is resisting her urge to go and draw the intestines on the bunny; I am arguing with her about my need to keep the garden lights a stop sign and traffic light even though I know Adam and Eve will hate my traffic light because it won't make any sense to them and would just look funny and strange and off-key. They came in though, a little after 10pm last night and they seem pleased. I hope they are. Jenny made me erase the stop sign and traffic light and after about an hour of discouragement we found these wonderful devices called Mr.Clean's Magic Erasers.
Please allow us to add that it was when we found the Magic Erasers that everything became all better. On the way home Jenny and I came to a conclusion about these and realized that we really want a huge Magic Eraser for our lives and that is why it was such a mood-lifter when we found them for the dissociative mess we had on the wall. I know that I am not making very much sense because I am simply not thinking clearly about most anything these past few days. I have so much to figure out about my family life (both internal and external), about my education plans, about the play that we've been writing, about how in the world Jenny's going-to-Italy-to-be-with-the-love-of-her-life is going to mess with the systems of thinking, about finding monologues and trying to plan for the Humanities Project and all this jazz and the fourth of the July was yesterday and I was completely reminded of my last fourth of July experience and I was with Jenny then as well and it was beautiful because maybe a day later we were sitting underneath a huge war-monument that read, "FREEDOM IS NOT FREE." We all still feel this way. We hid from fireworks last night and tried not to let them bother us, because we don't want to be horribly emotional or weird or dissociative or PTSD-ed or any of that other stuff that usually accompanies this childhood sexual abuse and rape- aftermath, thing. What a messy messy place. Boy, Oh boy, Mary Poppins, What would we do without faith?
we will write more soon.
love, we the people
PS: The real solution to the painting problem came when someone here said, "I cannot apologize for having all these people living inside of me with different artistic styles, not of which happens to be French Impressionist. I think that will be fine with Adam and Eve."
6.25.2008
boy do we have a story to tell
shortly, meaning within the next 24 hours; we have a huge story to tell. this will happen once the busy-ness dies down. 4.5 days between Minnesota and I. This is good. Very good.love, jessieh
6.17.2008
the fun Nitty Gritty of Body Image, Purging and Tempting Anorexia.
Readers Note: I am not advocating eating disorders. I am not blaming eating disorders on people reading fashion magazines (because quite frankly, I believe that if you read the latest issue of Vogue or Allure and feel fat or ugly, you were feeling ugly and fat before you read it). Stop reading these magazines. If you are recovering from an eating disorder, I suggest you not read the following blog entry, for it is not likely to contribute to your recovery.
What's funny about what I am about to write is that the happenings I am about to try to work out; understand more clearly happened last night on June 16th. This morning, as I sit here trying to piece together this "oh-god, my-brain-has -been -taken -over -by- food" stuff- I began searching for a blog entry that I remembered writing about my history of eating problems as I understood them at the time. It turns out, this entry was written exactly a year before the happenings I am about to discuss. Funny, how that works, eh?
Last night, I celebrated my birthday with my adoptive family because on my actual birthday, they were out of town visiting other family members and I was here, celebrating with Ms.Hepburn, The Flague, A secret family, Sam, Jenny, Lloyd, Eve, and We the People. Anyway, this of course, is not the intended point. I was at dinner last night, a wonderful Asian cuisine, eating Sushi, talking about their Pennsylvania trip, and enjoying the company of my adoptive family and trying to remain as comfortable as possible with this whole-she's-gotten-another-year-older celebration. I was doing a really really good job. I loved the Sushi. It was so good. While I was eating it, I don't remember once thinking/hearing, YOU ARE A BAD PERSON FOR EATING THIS. and trust us, this is major progress. I was actually not worrying about my food at all, and I was actually enjoying the taste of it. Wow. Great. Good food. I didn't consider throwing it up. I didn't have that feeling in my stomach of ultimate and complete badness that 9.75 out of 10 time accompanies any meal I dare consume. I ENJOYED MY DINNER LAST NIGHT. I ENJOYED THE PEOPLE I WAS AROUND. I HAD FUN. I LAUGHED. WHEN THE USUAL FEARS DID ARISE, I COULD FIND A PAIR OF EYES TO LOCK WITH AND SOMEHOW IT MADE THE FEARS FALL APART INTO NON-LOGICAL NOTHINGNESS.
{even when we had a slice of the wonderful cake Ms. Dana brought I was not consumed by need-to-vomit-ness.}
and then, I had to come home. To a place where, it is evidently not understood that I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY WEIGHT OR THE FOOD I AM EATING with you, unless I ask you what you think about my weight or the food I am eating.
I walk through the living room, dressed in bare-nothing, shorts and a bra, headed for the laundry closet. The only person in the home who could see me strut almost-naked through the living room is my grandmother, a woman overweight, in her fifties, sitting in her nightgown, plopped pleasantly on the couch and she says to me, "OH, Honey, you're getting a little hippy aren't you?"
What's funny about what I am about to write is that the happenings I am about to try to work out; understand more clearly happened last night on June 16th. This morning, as I sit here trying to piece together this "oh-god, my-brain-has -been -taken -over -by- food" stuff- I began searching for a blog entry that I remembered writing about my history of eating problems as I understood them at the time. It turns out, this entry was written exactly a year before the happenings I am about to discuss. Funny, how that works, eh?
Last night, I celebrated my birthday with my adoptive family because on my actual birthday, they were out of town visiting other family members and I was here, celebrating with Ms.Hepburn, The Flague, A secret family, Sam, Jenny, Lloyd, Eve, and We the People. Anyway, this of course, is not the intended point. I was at dinner last night, a wonderful Asian cuisine, eating Sushi, talking about their Pennsylvania trip, and enjoying the company of my adoptive family and trying to remain as comfortable as possible with this whole-she's-gotten-another-year-older celebration. I was doing a really really good job. I loved the Sushi. It was so good. While I was eating it, I don't remember once thinking/hearing, YOU ARE A BAD PERSON FOR EATING THIS. and trust us, this is major progress. I was actually not worrying about my food at all, and I was actually enjoying the taste of it. Wow. Great. Good food. I didn't consider throwing it up. I didn't have that feeling in my stomach of ultimate and complete badness that 9.75 out of 10 time accompanies any meal I dare consume. I ENJOYED MY DINNER LAST NIGHT. I ENJOYED THE PEOPLE I WAS AROUND. I HAD FUN. I LAUGHED. WHEN THE USUAL FEARS DID ARISE, I COULD FIND A PAIR OF EYES TO LOCK WITH AND SOMEHOW IT MADE THE FEARS FALL APART INTO NON-LOGICAL NOTHINGNESS.
{even when we had a slice of the wonderful cake Ms. Dana brought I was not consumed by need-to-vomit-ness.}
and then, I had to come home. To a place where, it is evidently not understood that I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY WEIGHT OR THE FOOD I AM EATING with you, unless I ask you what you think about my weight or the food I am eating.
I walk through the living room, dressed in bare-nothing, shorts and a bra, headed for the laundry closet. The only person in the home who could see me strut almost-naked through the living room is my grandmother, a woman overweight, in her fifties, sitting in her nightgown, plopped pleasantly on the couch and she says to me, "OH, Honey, you're getting a little hippy aren't you?"
of course this comment started a whole series of thoughts, most of which my grandmother will never understand or know i was telepathically hoping to communicate as i stopped dead-middle of my journey to the laundry closet and starred at her, blankly, desperately trying to regain balance. The stare, however was not really blank it was a loaded stare, dead into her eyes that screamed, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? A LITTLE HIP-PY. IF YOU ARE GOING TO CALL ME FAT, SAY FAT SO THAT IT AT LEAST SOUNDS THE WAY IT IS MEANT TO AND NOT LIKE SO DISGUSTING LITTLE ADVICE TO LOSE WEIGHT BEFORE I GO BACK TO SCHOOL! YOU MUST LIKE THE IDEA OF ME HANGING MY HEAD OVER SOMETHING AND BARFING! YOU SICK DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YOU ASK ME A QUESTION LIKE THAT- IT WASN'T A QUESTION, IT WAS A STATEMENT OF YOUR OPINION REGARDING MY HEALTHY WEIGHT THAT I HAPPEN TO BE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY INSECURE ABOUT BECAUSE ON MOST OCCASIONS I FEEL THAT I WOULD BE A BETTER PERSON IF I WERE THINNER! WHICH IS ABOUT AS STUPID AND INSANE OF AN IDEA AS ME GETTING A LITTLE HIPPY. I'M NOT HIPPY YOU COW! I'M NORMAL. NORMAL. NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T THINK I AM FAT, AND YOU DON'T COUNT AS A PERSON BECAUSE YOU THINK OF YOURSELF AS A GOD AND I DON'T WORSHIP YOU FLUFFY!!!!"
of course the real excitement of this particular entire inner-monologue is the fact that she heard none of the above that was being shouted inside by an eight year old and decided to chuckle at my blank stare instead.
AND I WANTED TO DIE. THE END.
JUST WHEN WE ARE GETTING BETTER A LITTLE REMINDER COMES THAT WE SHOULD NEVER EAT AGAIN.
love, jessieh
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