Red, Blue, and Yellow Yarn

There's a book I have in my picture book collection (title above) about a little boy whose Bubby has come to visit. Bubby has lots of rules, and he doesn't like them. Bubby is staying in his room, and he's not supposed to go in, but he does anyway, to get a car he forgot on his bed. While he's there, he sees his Bubby's balls of yarn, all perfect in a basket, and it's so tempting to juggle them...but he's not very good at it, and every time one drops and rolls away, he just grabs another. By the time he is caught, the entire room is a giant, colorful web of yarn.

I just finished reading an autobiography of a woman who had DID, and successfully integrated her 24 personalities. Unlike Sybil, her book is written from her own perspective, with her therapist's notes included.

Here's a brilliant quote from her book (which I highly recommend) that I really think describes what's going on inside me right now:

"...Yet the flock seemed worse, with personalities further apart an acting out more vigorously now than we had been before beginning therapy. Lynn had said that therapy was like separating the strands in a tangled web of yarn. It made sense that things would keep getting more separate for a while so that we eventually came back together in a more organized way."

I have a beautiful life to knit. I just need to untangle all the red, blue, yellow (and other colors!) balls of yarn so I can put them back together and create the wonderful person I am supposed to be.

(quote from The Flock, by Joan France's Casey with Lynn Wilson)

Walking Backward

Ever feel
Like you're walking backward
Against your will?

Like your body
Your legs
Just go
In the direction they want
Even though you know it's the wrong way?

That's what's happening now.

I wish my body
And my mind
Would be in sync
With each other.

Murdered

This may turn out to be against my better judgement, but I am posting it anyway.

"Leiby! Leiby!" Thousands took to the streets
looking for a little boy
who didn't come home
missing for just a few hours
and already, the community mobilized
to find him.

And they did.
Too late.
Dead.
Chopped up.

When it's physical
visible
we all go looking.

But what about all of us
who went missing as children
emotionally?
Whose minds are chopped up
ruined
destroyed?
Whose spirituality
connection with G-d
is gone
along with our childhoods?

No one came looking for us...
No one looks for the little girls
who disappear into their heads
whose smiles are gone

No one looks for us
Because our bodies
are still here.

Rethinking

When I first started writing and drawing abotu abuse, more than five years before I started this blog, I portrayed him as menacing in every incident I wrote about.

Now though...I know the truth. I know that sometimes, he was sugary sweet, hugs and kisses, pleading.

It left me confused. If he's so ice, it can't be bad, right? So when I told, when I admitted it was bad, when I stopped blocking...I had to portray him as all black, all bad, all mean...

If not, it would be my fault for listening, for wearing that pair of underwear, for getting undressed, for kissing his penis...after all, he didn't make me....

Who Were You? Are You? WIll You Be?

for this page, i used crayola erasable twistables for the background, then erased lines to write on. the text on the first two lines refers to what i was then...when i was abused, and the first ten years following. the next two lines are about what i'm like now. the fifth line refers to the future, and the last line is a quote from Rabbi Label Lam, from a speech he said at the Ohr Naava Shabbaton...i believe last year.

Fear

for this page, i used black paper and Crayola GelFX colored pencils to journal about my fears...

Do You Remember

Do you remember
the time
you came to my room
and I wasn't
expecting you?

Do you remember
how I screamed
and threw things
at you?

Do you remember
the time
I said I
never wanted
to see you
again?

Do you remember
how I came
and knocked on your door
sending hate messages
with your brother?

Do you remember
all my anger
back then?

Do you remember
the stories I'd tell,
when playing lego
house, or school
those things i want
to forget ever saying?

Sometimes,
you inadvertently
remind me of
all these things

and I wonder...
how much of what
I remember
do you remember
too?

(this is directed at a few different people, some of whom, as far as i know, don't even know this blog exists...)

trapped

i'm feeling trapped within my body
trapped within my mind
spiders crawling over me
relief i cannot find
i wish i knew what i could do
to calm the storms inside
when all my instincts tell me
that i should run and hide

and so i try with all my might
to use the skills i've learned
grounding, relaxation,
and praying til i'm heard
the hours pass, although they're long
slowly, my strength returns
honest communication really helped
thanks for your concern!

under my covers
curled in a ball
protected by
mind built walls
still my skin
prickles
feel his
tickles
teddy and i
continue to hide
wishing away
the pain

nightmares

nightmares
never ending
favorite, most trusted
friends hurting
me
molesting

i want to wake up
stop the pain
yet sleep pulls me
deeper and deeper
into my worst nightmares
who needs memories of jack
hurting me
to keep me in therapy
when i have my own
messed up mind
creating new pain
every night?

It ??

It "thinks"
It pleases
It squeezes
It teases

It gives a pinch
It makes me flinch
It hurts me since
It makes me wince

It gives a scratch
makes me detach
i give a whack
It hurts me back

It creeps
It seeps
ruins sleep
without a peep

It crawls around
makes no sound
shoves me aground
hounds and pounds

It cuts, It stings
pains It brings
tightly clings
ties down my wings
wish i could
get rid of this thing

icky body

yuck
yuck yuck
yuck ick yuck
yuck yuck
yuck
ew
ew icky icky icky icky ew
ew__ yuck yuck yuck __ew
ew__ yuck yuck yuck __ew
ew__ yuck yuck yuck__ ew
ew __yuck yuck yuck __ew
i ha _te this body this ha_ te it
ugly dirty smelly
ewew___ ewew
ewew___ ewew
ewew___ ewew
ewew ___ewew
icky____ icky
icky____ icky
body of____ mine :-(

Day 7-Drawing

letter

i'm going to go off topic for a minute here. my friend, who goes by the name "getting stronger," wrote this letter to the yated. it didn't get in this week, but there's still hope for next time! i'm posting it because she makes a lot of very good points. happy reading!

Hello everyone. This is a letter that I wrote to the Yated last week, but they did not publish it. Reading LS's article to the Yated inspired me to write this. Abuse is rampant in the Jewish community. How can I say that it's rampant? Well, I am a survivor of abuse, and including myself, I know of five people who were abused within a two-block radius. That is five people too many. Dov Hikind has gotten hundreds of calls already from abuse survivors. This means there are probably thousands of Orthodox Jewish people who were or still are being abused. The abuse that I suffered could have been entirely prevented if I had been educated about this topic at a young age; but, no school says anything. I went through the Bais Yaakov system and not one teacher discussed this topic. If I had been told the basics, nothing detailed, then my abuse wouldn't have started in the first place. As a result of not knowing about this topic, I suffered in silence for four terrible years. I am now traumatized for life. I get triggered every single day. Even just walking out of my house brings horrific memories to my mind. I now suffer every day from depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and borderline personality disorder. Schools need to tell their students about this topic. Without knowledge, the chain just continues. Just shoving the topic under the rug does not make it disappear. Is the Jewish community afraid that something terrible will happen if they educate their children? I asked my therapist why she doesn't go to schools to teach children on a basic level about the topic of abuse. Her reply was, "Schools forbid me from coming." Atrocities are being committed because Jewish children are not being educated on the topic of abuse. "Trying to forget a fear is like trying to hold an inflated basketball under the water. It takes all of your strength and attention, and in time it must pop to the surface." - Finley Making believe that abuse doesn't occur in the Jewish community makes the entire situation one hundred times worse. It rears its ugly head in other ways. For me, my body is covered in scars since that was the only way I knew how to deal with so much inner pain. The chain can be broken if our Jewish children are educated. An ounce of prevention is worth more than a thousand pounds of cure. Some people may say, OK, let's only tell the girls since it occurs only among young girls. This is a falsehood. From the five people I know who were abused on two blocks, two of them are boys. Education is the only road to prevention. Without education, the chain just continues. Do something about the situation. Stop the chain. Today. - Concerned About the Future of Klal Yisrael

almost 12 years old

it's getting closer to my bas mitzvah. soon, i'll be twelve years old. mommy gives me a book to read, all about how special a girl's body is, and how it changes as we get older. it's scary. one day, all of a sudden, i'm gonna start bleeding!

but now i know at least. i'm growing up, and it's ok that my body is changing. once a month, i'll bleed for a week. that's not so bad.

until this happens.

oh. my. god.
i'm turning into him.
my body is morphing into jack's.
i have hair.
i'm not supposed to have hair there.
oh. my. god.
i'm turning into a boy.
i'm going to grow a penis soon.
i just know it.
soon i'm going to look just like him.
oh. my. god.
how come this isn't in the book?
it must be that it's not supposed to happen.
i'm not supposed to have hair there!
what's happening to me?

this stupid body

i hate this stupid body,
and all it represents.
the shape, the size, the nature,
all this i resent.

i hate this stupid body,
i hate the way it feels,
the way it reacts when tickled,
with "happy," laughing squeels.

i hate this stupid body,
the memories it holds,
i hate all the sensations,
tingling hots and colds.

i hate this stupid body,
the way it shakes and quivers,
how when someone touches,
they leave me here in shivers.

i hate this stupid body,
that listens to my mind
telling me to hurt myself,
it's really so unkind.

i hate this stupid body,
and all it represents.
the shape, the size, the nature,
all this i resent.

little sheep before a shower

'>

asleep

the travels of my pains

the bottom