IMPERFECT Lady

The Other Side.

As I wrote about the silence of many, it came to me that the group meme affect is what I am up against.  It isn't personal or individual but the culture of social, family and religious memes.

Here is the definition of Meme.

"A meme (/ˈmiːm/; meem)[1] is "an idea, behavior, or style that spreads from person to person within a culture."[2] A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols, or practices that can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate, and respond to selective pressure." 

The culture within my family and the church is that of a meme.  And, I am sure that I am not exclusive or different, but that we all belong to memes…at one point or another.

What I do feel, is that I am up against group mentality instead of individual ideals.

That the phenomena of this FALC meme as well as the culture of sexually abusing children are my opponents. It isn't personal…or perhaps I can't get to the person, for the Meme is standing between me and them.

"Our world is a place where information can behave like human genes and ideas can replicate, mutate and evolve" James Gleick

What I understand the most is that the meme has to be broken, damaged or doubted. Until then, society will continue to spread these memes…that are detrimental to society.

It is my hope that we can loosen the strings or roots that these memes have in each of us. Perhaps the stigma resides in the meme and not in the individual.  Is it possible for us to speak out against what the social and religious memes do to our individuality and or mental state of mind?

When I see others holding back unable to embrace things that go against the meme they are immersed in…I see that there is an invisible prison behind which they stand.

My experience in breaking free of the meme is terrifying and thrilling.  

The fear that holds the meme in place is the exact fear you have to move beyond. 

And often the love is entangled in the meme's blueprint, where you may gain your freedom but lose the love you had…for the love was very conditional. Again, what keeps the meme going strong is the amount of fear and the withdrawal of love if you are to dare step out beyond its strands.

I get it.

I see it like living in a tangled web of ideals and beliefs laced together with fear.

It isn't even the ideals, but the silken chains of shunning that holds folks prisoner in their own minds.

I have been in relationships where the meme directed each move, where freedom didn't stand a chance…and I have had the great vast unlimited space of being free to be me in relationships.  The latter is what love is.

Love is freedom.

As others stand frozen unable to go against the family, church and society…I don't see them as loving the church and family, but rather too afraid to lose their 'love' IF they were to go against the meme.

It has very little do with me…but I pay the consequences of their inability to move. 

All victims do.

We are left out to dry while they (church and family members) uphold the sentiments of their group.

This is done subconsciously and mostly without an educated or critical thought.  What strikes first, is the fear of losing what they have.  They will willingly lose me before they lose their love and faith.  

If I can wiggle a few strands free of this messy web that holds abuse as love…I will feel I have accomplished my intention.  To rip apart the intricate patterns of the memethat holds abuse within a family like it is not there.  

Perhaps the stress of or twist of trying to keep the Meme going when it is in direct opposition of your heart, you will break free. And when you are free of the collective group mind, you will be free to be you.

I love that I know what holds you back, for it was the same for me.  The pull on the inside was stronger than any voice outside.  Until I saw the what lay inside...

Then the energies reversed.  

There is a wall between us...I call it the truth or reality...it leaves us both unwilling to enter the other side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disgrace back to you.

From my Brother Carl's Facebook page...And this quote Dr. Brene Brown say's in this piece is for you:

"It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly...who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
Theodore Roosevelt, 1910

This quote means more to me today, than it did even one short week ago...while I awaited the photojournalist to appear with all his gear to set the stage for my voice to echo beyond my blog and local town.

I am daring greatly.  I am in the arena trying to articulate the cause and affects of what we call mental illness in regards to the sexually abused.

Some will shout TMI; too much information.

And I say, the only reason I am on camera is for the lack of information that has been presented and discussed and acted on from my childhood up to today.  There is a lack of information for those who are abused.

What is the churches message and where do folks like me go...where is their information?  

Same goes for family.

IF I am displaying family secrets, that means this information has been lacking.  I didn't have too much information as a child of sexual abuse, but rather the total lack of information of who is who and who is doing what to whom.

I am daring to show the totality of what has been lacking.  

It isn't what I knew that had me out of sorts with reality; but what I did not know.

I am hoping that by sharing my story, others will know.

This is the arena of knowledge; of what is.  I am attempting to show the landscape as I experienced it and how it appears today. 

Can there really be Too Much Information in regards to sexual abuse of children?  And, who wants this kept silent? Who doesn't want me to speak out loud?

I am once again pushed back by the silence of many, as I entered into this arena.  

Those who know, but who do not cheer.  

Do they hear my words? Will they see my images? What stops them from even virtually joining me with a "Like" on facebook.

I wonder why?

Is it me?

Is it the topic?

What keeps them silent again...another generation, new friends...not applauding the adult/child of abuse.  Who would they cheer for and which arena will they sit in?

I appreciate those cheering me on,immensly!  It almost appears you have to be brave in order to be with me.  This seems so odd...like why is it bad to stand by me?

This experience has given me a rapid review of how a child who is abused IS treated.

We know who you are by how you respond.

I know who hears me.

I know who is silent.

I know a child feels this too.

It makes those who are in this arena with me mean more. Thank you for not making me stand alone...soul bared...truth showing.

Vulnerable...is when you hide nothing, knowing some will turn away.

What is odd.  Years ago when the story broke, they were silent then, and some appologized years later.  We formed a tenuous loose friendship.  

It isn't that they didn't know.  It is that they are unable to stand by me.

This is the stigma...that we somehow are made to carry.  We are treated like a disgrace; so we internalize it.

I wish I could make it about me...this time.

But, this time I am handing the disgrace back to you.

Keeping the Silence!

Was it really just one week ago that I met David Cowardin and heard the about the documentary- "Call Me Mental"?  It has been a roller coaster week with journeys back to the past and dreams of the future, memories drug into the present and new thrills and possibilities.  The combination of mixing the old with the new the good with the bad, left my body in a state of contradiction.

Moments of fear tingling with terror slamming into excitement and choreographed magic.

The colliding of my past, present and future...and the feelings and emotions each carry.

Being pulled back and forth...and with new revelations.

It was to go on visual tour back; a life review but with the eyes of someone who sees...and a new friend who believed me.

Most often, it feels that I have to work really hard to articulate and prostrate, to explain the insanity...to make believable the unbelievable.  Trying to explain how what appears normal is actually insane.

What struck me to the core years ago was that I was seen as mental.

And, the drive in the old neighborhood, gave me the clear view of another girl who appears like me.  Who didn't have access to a photojournalist, who didn't have the books, the tools and the means to right her own mind; against the backdrop of insanity.

I know how it feels to be the lone voice of 'reason' and how they feel free to berate and dismiss my truths as evil remonstrations against 'good' folks and institutions.

The brilliance of this film are these daring free spirited, soul-full, kind photojournalists, who have taken on the stigma of the mental, is that they are willing see the world from the eyes of us "mental" folk.  

They are not interviewing the families or friends to show our insanity, but instead seeing our lives through our eyes. Seeing our experiences and how we came to be this way.

I see this project as being the tipping point to upend the 'normal' and show its ugly underbelly.

To see what sends us over the deep end.

It isn't our minds.

It isn't our experiences.

It IS the blind eyes upon evil that drive us nuts.

It is the dismissing of wrong doing.

It is not believing in the pattern and the gravity of its long reach.

The discounting of children's lives and their innocence...as they uphold the fake image of good of adults and churches, and who delete the actions upon children.

I love that this documentary is dancing on the lip of exposing the insanity that lives in the lives of the so called normal.

This so called normal is the good ole boys club phenomena...where we do what we do without question, just because it is what we were taught.  Not because it is right.

I see this documentary as furthering what I have come to believe...that we as society are in need of a great Ah Ha!  

Reactively we have stood by the institutions and the elders...without question or challenge.

"Call Me Mental" is the uprising of children against these old paradigms.

We know what doesn't work.  It is time for a change. I am proud to be part of the parade of children speaking out! 

My hats are off to the guys of Lola Visuals...may the power of the Universe lead us forward!  Giving us the platform for which we can shout...I no longer feel that my voice is just a whisper.

I hope my voice is clear and that it can articulate what those who went before me could not say!  I speak for those who have been silenced by a label "Mental".  

Call Me Mental, but I am no longer keeping the silence!  

 

Please show your support to us mental folks by going to "Call Me Mental" facebook page or to their site, and donate to the cause for breaking the stigma!  http://callmemental.com

 

A Mom like Me

This "Valentine" Lady was created in 2012.  

Grey and burdened, raining pain, she bows to the emotions, is chilled by their feelings.  

Is this a Love expression?  

Are feelings of a broken heart evidence that you loved?

Is a whole heart is formed from the brokenness...you enter.

Feeling the broken pieces...you feel love. 

 

Last year I tried to make another Valentine quilt. This one remains unfinished, just didn't speak to me clearly or loudly.  I didn't know it.

I had added the words and bird trying to make it make sense or have a theme....

It appears that she is on the road...crossing the road.  Perhaps she is the transition quilt...  While pondering this, I then wondered if she felt safe to remain in the middle of the road and not veer off the sides. That love is to not rattle cages or upset others...Perhaps the safety of the middle of the road didn't speak for I had left the safety zone.

This is my 2014 Valentine Quilt...

To me, she represents the courage it takes to love your self and to embrace and celebrate who you are.  She is not weak in her self love.  Her love has strength.

On Valentine's Day, we see love in chocolates and hearts. We don't see the love in breaking the silences...the courage it takes to stand for love and not cower out of fear.

Love isn't displayed when you do nothing when children are still in danger.

Taking the ride past our old house yesterday, was a reminder in how much things have stayed the same.  

Ironically, there are children now owning the homes they once lived in or live near by. 

The children are now the parents of the children in the neighborhood.

I wondered if this neighborhood was now different. If all the evil threats diminished.

Can it be different, if the children are not different than their parents.

Is the mind...the belief, the faith, the actions of love similar to when I grew up there?

What has changed in the neighborhood, except that the wounded children are now parents?  

How will they do better than their parents? What have they learned from their history? Will the fear of their own wounds keep the old neighborhood going?  

Are they more aware than my parents and theirs?  Has enough changed to make it a safe place for their children?

And, what needs to have changed in order for the threat to have been removed?

What makes a home and neighborhood a safe place for a child?

What kind of love is the kindest to children?

What kind of mother do these new children in their neighborhood need?

Will she look like me or like my mother?

Will she be trying to shake and rattle the foundations that seek to hide abusers in their pews and families...and friends.

Or will she be saying "It doesn't matter" what that crazy mental woman is doing, we are family. We have love.  

There was a young girl in our neighborhood, who we knew had lost her mind....but actually she was trying, like me, to expose abuse. She had a mental breakdown, for no one believed her.  I know this feeling well.

As I drove away from that old neighborhood, I felt that I too was seen as mentally impaired; for I see the perfect combination that is needed for the legacy of abuse to grow and flourish...all believing it is not there.

Call me Mental, but I needed a Mom like me.

 

 

 

 

Beyond Faith

I went back to my old church today...and I brought my new friend.  

A cold and blustery day.  It matched my feelings.

Who would have thought that someday, I would return...with a photojournalist.

Trying to capture how this religion played such a crucial part in my childhood abuse.

It is the lens my mother couldn't see through.

The child's wound remains invisible...as does the sin she blessed away.

There was no longing or wish to belong.  No guilt or shame.  Just an incredible chill of what this structure is used for...

Where a child's mind is bent and shaped to bend and shape reality to be different than it is.  

Did my photojournalist see the truth through his lens?  

Does a camera see beyond Faith.

I Love My Team!

This morning I thought of doing a montage of folks who have helped bring awareness to My Lady...my art and backstory.  Those who have helped her enter into the public arena.  The brilliance of the Art is juxtapositioned with the unveiling of her truth, otherwise known as family secrets.

I have much appreciation for those who have spiritually and physically been by my side.  Without your presence, I would not have stood as tall or have been so brutally honest.  You are my forever heart friends!  

I met Tom Rosemurgy when I went to get my father's evidence.  He passed me on to An-gel.  An-gel and her crew invited me to be the guest speaker at the Dial Help Gala.

They gave me the courage to keep being me and to be out there.  Like Way out there!

A gentle man was at the Gala and he tried out bidding the Detective (Tom Rosemurgy) at the auction to be owner of one of my quilts.  Tom won, but Joe waited for the next opportunity....and, it came.

Joseph Freed was the high bidder the next year and asked if I would consider displaying my quilts at Copper Country Mental Health.  I said, "Yes".

Joseph's vision to have My Story Line quilts hanging in the offices of Copper Country Mental Health to add Art to their space has been very well received.

They had a "Meet the Artist" social for me, where I met with Chad Johnson who works at the Club House.

Chad was asked to ask me if I would consider being part of a documentary in the making....again.  I said Yes. 

The reason?

Because this trail has been layed out in front of me, and I, like a relay wand have been handed off to one caring person to the next.  What is so brilliant, IS that I don't ask, but am asked.  

I am not the movement, but the movement is asking me to join.

Which brings me up to my last Yes...to be part of David Cowardin's documentary..."Call Me Mental".  He is not doing this alone, but he is the face of the team that I know.  

Without these kind warm spirited people who are out there trying to make a difference in the lives of those suffering, I would not have become so visible.

I would not have dared to step out so far.

To expose so much.

You all have thought I was stronger than I was...for I have taken a bit of courage from each of you.  You believed in me...when so many others want to shame me for speaking out.

I did not commit the crime.

I am bringing Light and breaking the silence.

The abuse is over for me.

My father was convicted, tried and sentenced.

I am speaking out NoT for me, but for those who follow me.

I am daring to shake foundations that have been held firmly in place by silence.

No one spoke out publicly against abuse within my old religion for me.

I am standing out for those who are without a voice.

I am not willing to know and do nothing.

The opportunity arose to work with a photojournalist, I said "Yes".

The stigma is there as long as we remain silent.

My shame is released each time I speak out loud.

These individuals each brought me a new platform to stand upon.

Thank you, Tom, An-gel, Joseph, Chad and David!

You were placed on my path at the right time and with the perfect venue!

I love my Team!

 

 

 

The Mic is Open.

"Art is both therapy and tragedy. Somewhere in the mix lies hope for humanity. That is the foundation of our work … the intangible hope that pulls us toward some horizon we spend every day trying to explain, knowing that the landscape will change when we wake. Everything else occupies the space of comfortable distractions. We hope to never be comfortable."

~LoLa Visuals and 5th Estate Films

I found this on David Cowardin's business page....Lola Visuals.  No wonder he is the one to take my story.

Being uncomfortable is something hard to get used to.  Putting myself in new situations; like being filmed.

Well, being filmed would not be bad... it is discerning. 

Most worry about what they look like...hair, size and overall physical presentation.

Instead my concern is how I sound.  

Not my voices tone, but its content.

And it isn't the value of the message or its worth, but how it will be received.

I know I have a unique story; my art stems from therapy in tragedy.

It has been the balm that re-balances my life.

Soothing my rattled nerves.

I only had about a 3 day window from being asked to be part of this project "Call Me Mental", to sitting in a chair...facing the camera, and sharing Me.

My body has been clanging inside...the mixture of wild exhilaration of sharing my story, my art and my hope...only to be bracing for the onslought of redicule from my family of origin.

I am out of my comfort zone again.

The zone where you don't make waves.

When I am asked to be part of something that will help others, I say yes. 

My Lady leads the way; I follow.

I follow knowing the cost to my personal life and its affect upon my body.

Inside of me are two extreme opposite energies or emotions.  Love and Fear.

Love of sharing hope and encouragement in breaking the silence and to stand in the truth of who you are...and the fear of doing so.

I feel such great kindness and care, honor and respect from David as we film.

I feel a mixture of trepidation and excitement to see my story and art on film.

And I am bracing for the haters...while excited to see if my story can help others.

I have to withstand the negative in order to help even one person feel less alone, less mental and more hopeful.

My family has not supported any of what I have done; for in order to share my message, the family's secrets are laid bare.

I get it.

I just don't know how we can break the stigma of being sexual abused and to flip the role of the victim carrying the responsibility, unless one of us stands up.

I stand up in front of the camera, knowing I will be blasted from behind.

While I am seen by strangers and new friends, as a hero, someone who "kicks ass"..."an incredible woman"...I am also seen as one who wrecks our family.

Who 'enjoys' the trashing the family in public.

One who doesn't care about family...for I willingly throw ours under the bus.

I willingly offer our dysfunction to be dissected by the public.

Is there any other way to break the silence without breaking the silence?

I also will second my brother's invite, "Speak now or forever hold your peace!"

Challenge me.

Correct me where I am wrong.

Step forth and show the public how mental I am!

Sit where I have sat and bear your soul.

Share what you have to teach, your message of hope and healing...your experience of being a child of a pedophile; the mic is open.

It is Open Mic on "Call Me Mental".

 

 

 

Recovering My Mental Health

Self diagnosed as "Abused"...back in December 2004…wasn't the real kingpin that flipped my world upside down, but the fact that it had been denied.  

I have to read the definition of denied. 

"State that one refuses to admit the truth or existence of "They deny any responsibility for the tragedy"."

 

Being sexually abused is the root or starting point where my mental illness began.  

However, it was the mistreatment I received, AFTER being abused, where my mental illness was formed.  

You can't just blame the sexual act that my father subjected me to, you have to also consider how this event was handled.

How was I treated?  

What changed in my childhood home, after I was mistreated? 

Or maybe more importantly, "How was my father treated?"  

Was he treated like a pedophile, and I a victim of abuse?

Who orchestrated the treatment after the abuse?

Who had the power of this step, after the abuse?

I believe as my mother and his wife... my mother carried a huge responsibility in the trajectory of our lives. 

The way in which she responded, set in motion my wellness or my illness.

She determined my path by either facing the truth or denying it.

I also looked up the word denial.  

"The action of declaring something to be untrue."

The actions my mother made was to bless away his sins, declaring them untrue.

What was once there, was now wiped clean.

His sins were forgiven.

His truth changed.

This left me with nowhere to go with my abuse; for IT no longer existed.

What made my mental health worse is that my mind failed to record my abuse.  I was left with a body in terror and a mind that is blank and a home that returned to normal like no abuse had ever occurred.

A few days after declaring myself Abused, I found a Beanie Baby Ostrich and knew it represented my mother; her head in the sand.

Her refusal to treat my father like a pedophile; cast me into the sea of mental illness.

The void of pretending all was well with thee…when all had tragically changed.

A father was no longer safe.

And a mother who didn't see the monster I lived with.

In order to survive; I had to pretend to pretend this wasn't the truth of our home.

I felt so free in December when I could declare my truth….I am just like my niece. I am abused.  And, my body matches this truth. My terrors are not make-belief.  My night terrors have a source.  My lack of feeling warm and fuzzy towards my parents has a reason…I felt normal for the first time in my life; when I knew I had a pedophile for a father and an ostrich for a mother…I made sense.

My mental illness was denial.

When I no longer denied my truth I was recovering my mental health.

All of You!

Day two of filming "Call Me Mental" 

It is hard to articulate the process for it is Art in the making...and you are just a piece of a bigger picture...and yet how you present yourself will add or take away from the project.  It truly is an audition and bringing the right and perfect content that is needed to inform, inspire and push the envelope...to start a social change as this documentary explores the stigma of mental illness.

Can you explain and share your mental illness clearly?  Will it leave the viewer more hopeful and normal in their illness?  

For I see myself as being a normal person who was put in abnormal situations and the effect that had on my life.  And, then the process of recovering my self from the affects...if you will.

David Cowardin is simply the perfect person for letting us share our stories.

These are not typical stories. They are our wounds and greatest pains.  He handles them and us, with the open space of gentle kindness while doing Art.

He adjusts lights and cameras while we are pouring out our souls.

He asks questions with kind eyes and a soul willing to hear.

 What is so weird and surreal we are creating wonderful art from tragedy; if you will. Look at our smiling faces...you can feel our bond of good energy. 

He and his partner are going into our darkness with bright lights.  

We are bringing Light to an segment of society that has been kept in the dark....our secrets and the places to seek help.  

I simple love that my quilts are in Copper Country Mental Health, and we are doing a film, "Call Me Mental" and bringing brightness....into what wounds us.

Willing to display your wounds on camera, as well as what was helpful in healing them...will help others find their way.  Or so is my hope.

Last night was a bit easier for me, for it was explaining the quilts.  To re-visit each one and feel what they saying...what part of my journey did they capture.

I once again felt the awe of what came forth in each quilt.  I feel the magic of the story and how my subconsciousness was revealed.  I am viewing my art like I wasn't there making it!

And to top the evening off, my brother and I were connected via Skype.

Bringing him into my episode...for we have shared a very unique experience...as siblings, friends and partners in recovering after abuse.

There are not enough words to express the delicate place we were both in...him trusting me and me having the courage to use truth and reality...

Using all I had to offer...freedom and reality.

He gave me the books and authors that I used to help me help him.

The yoga too he shared with me.

He was my first and is my most ardent cheerleader.

Thank you Carl for giving me all of you!  

 

How I came to be...

First day of filming done....and actually David was here for the morning.  He was wonderful wonderful!  Kind, curious, attentive and very creative, quiet, responsive, and open.  The perfect photojournalist for me!  Thanks Chad Johnson for connecting us!

He wanted a quilt to be my backdrop, and this is the only one that was completed enough to do the trick.  This photo is blurry, but you get the idea of the stage he created!

There were three very bright lights focused on me.  Once I seen all the equipment, it almost had me nervous...like this is real, we are going "live".  Lights, Camera...and action!  I was the object...how will my story land.  

David was very good at keeping the flow going, or so it seemed.  Neither of us worked from a script or scripted notes, just me being me and David intently listening capturing the gist of my story.

He took one hour of video in the "interview" type setting...then the Sunshine came into the livingroom and played with the lighting...too distracting but a great invite for us to go outside!

I choose to dress like I usually do on my Sundays at home. I felt relaxed and myself and it assisted with calming me. I was Me being Me!

He took video of me walking outside...for this was a very important part of my recovery; to be with nature.

We then took footage of my quilting space and of me quilting.  He is as creative with his camera...just like an Artist.  Paying attention to details...to weave the story together.

He asked if I had a white piece of fabric that we could write the words "Call Me Mental"....and that inspired me to create a quilt that will be in my episode.  I choose one of my hand-dye fabrics as the background and then used the white and black fabrics for the words....and I added My Lady!

What a fun way to honor the documentary...with a quilt!

I love the word play of Call Me Mental, if you must… and I will call me whatever I feel!  

The uneven border is because the handstitching isn't done...but I wanted to put this on the blog...celebrating the first day of filming my episode for "Call Me Mental".

Thanks again Dave for being you...and for taking such good care of me and my story and for treating it as it is....a wound of childhood that reverberated out for years...creating a survival self. And, my journey to find the real me!  Call Me Mental, but I am just revealing all of who I am and how I came to be...

More to come...at 5pm tomorrow Dave will be back behind the camera and My Lady will be in front!