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Lighter

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I’m so tired. But it feels so good. I’m finally beginning to relax. My body has been so tense for too long. I feel lighter somehow, more grounded in myself. The anxiety is leaving me, like a flock of heavy birds. I will never take anything about myself, for granted again. Not my health, my body nor my mental state. I’ve learned just how vulnerable I am in this life. Being so close to giving up makes you both even more vulnerable but also stronger, because you know that you got through it and learned a lot from the experience. I didn’t give up. I kept moving forward, even when it felt like I was stuck. And I’m more connected to my body now, I’ve rediscovered it like it was just handed to me. It is a beautiful thing.

I have some ideas about new paintings that I want to try out. I’m sure it will feel different this time since I’m so much more present in my own body. Perhaps the disconnection has been part of the problem and why it hasn’t felt completely right when I’m painting.

The first morning

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I woke up to the first real autumn morning of the year. The leaves on the trees outside my window had changed their colors over night. Even though my health is still poor, I feel better, less affected by the physical suffering somehow. It is the first morning in many ways.

I’m still fighting with the clinics to get the right treatment. I feel disappointed in our health care system – I’m just being tossed around by the clinics and different doctors. All this is stealing from my energy and focus, but it needs to be done. I’m not gonna stop fighting until my health is under control.

I can’t wait to get back to creating art again. It feels like it was forever, but it hasn’t been that long. In a way it’s been good to be without it, I’ve let my imagination rest for a while, the ideas are more clear, less cluttered with details in my mind. I know exactly where I am gong from here. I’ll let the autumn leaves carry me there.

De sista raderna

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Nu finns jag inte längre i din spegel. Jag raderar ut mitt ansikte. Ditt namn. Svartmöglet som kryper in mellan raderna. Och tänderna som sitter fast som yxblad i glaset. Souvenirer från ditt hat. Jag lösgör mina händer ur jorden. Det växer rötter rakt genom köttet, liknar röda rep. Jag kvävs. Mina fötter domnar men vill springa, vart – är just nu lite oklart.

Känner hur spegelglaset fortfarande spänner mot kinden. Känner kylan. Jag försvann men känslan av att vara inlåst i din reflektion är kvar. Brytningen mellan sommar och höst. Träd som skriker. Eller kanske är det jag.

Det är över nu. Jag är inte längre hunden som springer för att hämta dina gamla rester av skuld. Jag är inte solen. Inte åskan som piskar dig. Jag är ingenting nu. Fast på samma gång är jag fri. Kanske även du.

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Himlen blöder horisontellt. Jag andas inte. Inte än. Skärvor av glas rispar ditt namn över synfältet en sista gång. Det låter annorlunda nu. Har en annan klang. Det är platt. Sladdrigt. Som det är blöt papp.

Jag måste glömma dig. Din mjuka hand. Dina svarta lågor. Din kyla. Det röda i din hemliga låda. Dina förödmjukelser. Och dina ögon som speglar sig i mina. Glömskan ska ta dig ifrån mig. Och mig ifrån dig. Ta smärtan från min själ. Den tar verkligheten och allt det som kunde varit. All jävla tid som brann inne. I dig.

Allt är försent. Trasigt. Sårat. Dött. Men ändå inte. Dubbelheten gör mig galen. Nu flyr fåglarna. Tårarna. Och min ängslan. Vingarna skär genom luften som saxar. Vågar inte titta.

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Det var aldrig det jag ville. Du tvingade mig. Ett sönderklippt liv. Frasigt i kanterna. Orört men invaderat. Ogenomtränglig avsky. En inkapslad vrede. Och all förbannad kärlek. Du slösade bort allt. Jag tillät dig.

Nu börjar det. Livet.

Utan dig.

Moving forward, ever so slowly

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This weekend has been nothing but a slow passage from my serious health problems to feeling better – the situation demanded my full focus and I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I got an allergic reaction to the penicillin and the symptoms were both surreal and torturous, among other symptoms; l couldn’t wear clothes or touch anything soft because my skin was so sensitive and reacted with goosebumps and the worst discomfort I’ve ever felt in my life at the slightest touch of fabric or even my own hair against my skin, which resulted in two sleepless nights. That’s something to add to my already exhausted mind. But – I’m still here, I’m moving forward and I’ve found a new inner strength that will carry me through all the physical hells I’ve been visiting lately. For the last three months, I’ve lost a tooth, 1/4 of my hair, my period (I’m not pregnant) and a lot of time and money, but I haven’t lost my spirit. Therefore, everything will be alright.

Every week I try to be positive and say that my health is finally improving, but then something happens and my health is collapsing once again. From now on I’m not gonna say anything and just let things happen. At least I’m moving forward in things and that’s all that matters. Even though it feels like I’m moving in slow motion. But nonetheless I’ve been keeping things in motion throughout this whole period of crappiness:

  • I’ve found a new direction in my art
  • I’ve found a way to accept the “unacceptable” from my past
  • I’ve reconnected with my own body (well, the dramatic summer with all the health problems has forced me to, which is really positive)
  • I’ve detached myself from my old audience and the need of their approval
  • I’ve let go of self-sabotage once and for all
  • I’ve found the blueprint to my “mental potency” and know exactly in which situations I lose it – and that’s great because now I know how to protect it
  • I’ve understood that my creativity/imagination is my superpower and now I know how to use it instead of wasting it
  • I’ve found a clear definition of who I am as an artist and what I want to achieve
  • I’ve finally let love in
  • I’ve stopped identifying myself with Lolita

And that’s quite an achievement. It’s been three shitty months, panic attacks and endless trips to different clinics and pharmacies, but it’s also three months of so many good things happening, while I’m fighting to feel healthy and happy again.

And I’ll keep fighting. No. Matter. what.

The glorious exhaustion

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I feel a bit exhausted but there’s something liberating about the feeling, like I’ve found the limit to my own anxiousness and fear. A wall that guides me away from destruction. In this exhaustion I find peace, I am simply too tired to overthink things or worry so much. I’m highly intolerant to uncertainties and right now there’s nothing but uncertainty around me. It is a good opportunity for me to practice faith and hope – and the belief that everything will be alright in the end (and get rid of my mental preparation for disasters and catastrophes – hence the George Costanza reference in yesterday’s post).

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I’m tired or reading about different types of abuse, about victimisation and survival strategies, I need to take a break in my self-therapy work. I need to laugh more, embrace the love I have in my life, nurture friendships and focus on good things. But I won’t judge myself for doing this heavy work of self-empowerment and the process of acceptance when it comes to myself and my painful past, it’s very important to me and it needs to be done. But now, I need a break from all of it.

I want to read more books, watch more TedTalks, call my friends, paint and take long walks. After all, these are the first days of autumn, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on welcoming it back.

My own private purgatory

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It is the first gray day in a month. Even though I’m still not feeling well, I am enjoying this morning of soft shadows and rain. The autumn is transforming the trees outside my window into a colorful drama.

I’ve been struggling with anxiety lately. It feels like I am stuck in a personal purgatory, even though I don’t believe in stuff like that, but that’s what it feels like. Everything I want is out of reach. I am in a limbo, a waiting room. It’s so frustrating and I’ve become quite negative, I don’t like it. I need to shake it off, otherwise I am afraid I’ll sink into another depression. There’s just so much pressure right now; I have to get healthy and strong so I can look for a job, otherwise I can’t afford to make new art projects, or starting my own business and moving Johnny from the States to Sweden to live with me. But the pressure makes my health worse and then I don’t feel strong enough to work, because I’ve been burned out for so long. It’s like a vicious circle and I need to break it.

I made a list of everything that’s going on right now (or things refusing to happen until I’ve dealt with other things first) and I have 11 active processes that I’m going through at the same time – each and every one of them demands a deep focus. Some of them are just things I have to go through right now to be able to get to ‘the other side’ [of this purgatory] and the rest of them are just part of life and nothing I can control but nonetheless things I have to deal with.

This is a crappy time of my life but I guess life is really nothing but a cycle of good and bad times. The only good thing about feeling like you are going through a private purgatory – is knowing that better times will eventually come; my future looks like a treasure chest full of everything I have ever dreamed of!

It all just seems so far, far away.

And it’s driving me a little crazy.

The impossible nature of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t”

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A self portrait drawing I made in junior high (at the age of 14) to show my best friend Nanci how I felt about being bullied by some girls in our class. It’s basically saying that the bullies laughed at me if I didn’t speak up at their verbal abuse but also that they would laugh at me if I got mad and tried to stand up for myself.

I’ve made a very important discovery about the nature of a certain type of abuse, which I call “hate-abuse” (verbal and psychological abuse done by a person or a group of people who are bullying someone because they feel uncomfortable around that person and display hatred towards that person), and it is that it is not about a wrongdoing or a specific quality or feature in the victim – it’s the psychology of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” that creates the perfect foundation for a sense of power for the abuser – like “satisfaction guaranteed” because they will feel superior in any case.

These words were once meant for me: “you seem to like being treated like a pathetic and submissive creature”, meaning I did not stand up for myself to that person’s abuse. But I’ve also heard this: “you think you are so innocent but you get angry too and say hurtful things, you are to blame just as much as I am to blame”, meaning I finally exploded of anger after being bullied and abused. My abusive husband would even show me scratch marks on his hands which I had created in self defence during his violent attacks of abuse. He would pout his lips and made me kiss the wound. Like it was all my fault. And I bought it, felt guilty and ashamed.

There’s just something so completely impossible about this routine of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” – and the root of the impossibility is that the abuser or the bully has already made up their minds about the victim; whatever they’ll do they’ll be hated and punished. It’s all about getting a reaction – and the lack of it triggers a want to try even harder to get it. This is called narcissistic abuse and is meant as a tool to “play you”. And boy, have I been played!

The important thing here is that it’s not about you. It’s them. I’ve spent nearly two decades trying to figure out why they hated me or whatever I had done to deserve the abuse. But it’s not about me, I just can’t win anyway. It wouldn’t do any difference if I changed to whatever they would want me to be (for them) or if I would act differently. Because they will always find something, that is wrong, something worth punishing; if I’m happy they’d think I don’t deserve it, if I’m sad they’d say I’m only feeling sorry for myself and using it to get other people’s sympathies, if I’m successful they’d say I’m a fraud, if I’m failing they’d say I’m worthless and pathetic etc. There’s no way to win this game.

The only thing to do – is to withdraw from participating in their game. And it can be very hard to do. Nobody is ever allowed to play me again. I learned that lesson too late but better late than never.

Clarity

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I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and I could hardly breathe, but there was something wonderful about it. The dream somehow brought a sense of clarity to my mind. I took out a notebook and wrote down the message from the dream, then I called Johnny to tell him about my discovery (that’s the only good thing about having your boyfriend on the other side of the world and in a different time zone – that he’s awake and there for you if you wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night). I know how to go about getting closure and acceptance when it comes to something very painful now. It’s not the first time I am saved by a nightmare.

I could finally see things as they really are, without adding any confusion to them. I feel grateful and it will be easier to let go of things I haven’t been able to let go of or accept before. That I’ve never been able to accept.

I have been way too busy making up excuses for other people’s bad behavior. The excuses make everything messy and confusing. The mind is a mighty place of magic and wonder. It tries to solve our problems while our bodies rest, and if we’re lucky we’ll be able to see clearly through the surreal stream of images and emotions in our dreams, and find keys to the locked doors in our minds.

“Progressive-aggressive”

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I made up a new word.
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There is the passive-aggressive. Passion-aggressive. Obsession-aggressive. Obsessive-aggressive. Compulsive-aggressive.
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And then there is the progressive-aggressive. That’s what I am. I am constantly moving forward.

 

The cat

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I’m starting to feel more relaxed. The summer is dying and all my troubles seem to fade with its death. My health is improving but I’ve lost a lot of hair, perhaps because of all the medicine and the penicillin, but most likely from all the emotional stress. I have to accept that I am highly sensitive to stress. In fact, all the recent health issues have pushed me forward in the process of self-acceptance. For the first time in my life I am forced to deal with my physical vulnerability while I am connected to mind, body and soul. I am out of the dissociative behavioral pattern, I am slowly beginning to explore my physical self without separating it from my mind or consciousness. It is a strange thing to be this connected to oneself – because I am suddenly aware of every part of me like they are newly added to my body. It is an odd combination with my hypochondria and at times I feel worried I would lose all my teeth, more hair or get really sick. I think this physical awakening is a phase of self-protection and self-compassion – I have allowed situations where my body has been abused in so many ways (by others but also by myself) and this new awareness is the first step to a new acceptance, forgiveness and forming a new sense of self-worth and self-respect.

Perhaps that’s what my recurring dream about the forgotten cat is about;  for years I’ve had this nightmare where I hear a soft whimpering noise coming from behind a sofa, I pull out the sofa and see a very thin and dying cat and that’s when I remember that I have a pet that I haven’t seen or fed in months. The cat is covered in dust and it’s starving. I feel so guilty. The fur is coming off and is covered with eyes, all blinking and looking at me. The cat wants me to pet it but I feel disgusted and creeped out. I slowly approach it with my hand and pet the fur and I can feel the glossy eye balls against the palm of my hand.

The cat is obviously me – or a representation of my body (I would use cat or lioness to describe my inner animal and I have lots of dreams where they appear) and I have failed to give it attention and love.

I’ve made some artworks based on this recurring nightmare, perhaps I’ll make more. It stills haunts me.

“The Nightmare” by Mia Makila, 2010

I won’t ever abandon myself again. It is the biggest crime you can commit to yourself while being alive on this Earth. Self-abandonment leads to so much suffering and the lack of self-compassion is the first step to any destructive thought or action. This season of health problems has taught me so much about just that.

A new language

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The white tulips of “Fringe” (TV series)

I haven’t been able to work due to the monthly invasion of ‘dark’ hormones. I feel utterly unfocused and distant – but even so, I feel deeply connected to my inner world and every day I sense something new approaching – like I am subconsciously learning a new language within my own creativity and imagination. I see new visions, new ideas are forming with ease and without resistance. It feels really good. But what are all these new things I see inside my mind? As soon as the hormones have passed, I will try to find out. I especially want to make a digital piece inspired by the mythology of the white tulip in Fringe.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my own personal mythology and how I could use it more in my art. I have about 30 notebooks with therapy notes, there are so many personal symbols and whole new iconography in there. It will be fun to explore them outside the notebooks for a change. I think this was exactly what Hilma Af Klint did in her art, almost exactly a hundred years ago.

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Hilma af Klint, The Swan, No. 17, Group IX/SUW, The SUW/UW Series (1915)

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From my notebook earlier this year

There are so many emotions and memories I wish to share with the world – both to tell my story but also to take my research about dissecting the soul to a new level. Perhaps I’ll be a little art-philosopher one day, who knows. First, I have to learn how to use this new language so I know how to tell the story right.

Holy Hell

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The summer is still hanging on even though it’s about to be fall. It has been the hottest September in 160 years here in Sweden. I absolutely loathe heatwaves. I miss rainy days, dark clouds, stormy weather, grey skies and fresh air. But I guess these are the last days of summer.

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From “Holy Hell” (2016)

I watched a great documentary on Netflix yesterday –  “Holy Hell”, about a charismatic spiritual teacher who formed a cult in California in the 80’s, called “Buddafield” and the filmmaker was documenting the events and lives of the members, with his camera, during his 22 years with the cult. I am very creeped out by most religious beliefs and spirituality that is based on a leader (a God or a teacher) and the submission of his followers. People might think I’m into religious spirituality because I’m writing so much about the inner core and how to embrace the inner world. But I’m not. I am so not into that at all.

"Ship of Fools" by Mia Makila. 2008

“Ship of Fools” by Mia Makila. 2008

When you hear religious or spiritual people talk about being filled with light and energy from reaching some kind of spiritual ecstasy, they always describe an “out of body experience”, like the spirit has been liberated from the physical body. To me this is the opposite of what I want to experience. For a person who has been dealing with PTSD for two decades, and a dissasociative disorder, where you separate your mind from your body to survive traumatic experiences and memories, there is nothing holy or liberating about the out of body experience.

2014

2014

Once you start to protecting yourself with the dissasociative state, it is hard to go back to experiencing things with both body and mind connected. I still separate myself at times, even though I’m not going through another trauma. I separate during sex. In arguments. In situations where I don’t feel safe.

This is also visible in my art from a year that was particular hard for me – where I only created octopuses. An octopus doesn’t have a body, only a big head with tentacles dangling underneath:

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From my old blog:

“It was so easy for me to separate my emotional experiences from my carnal existence. In some situations I could actually feel how I disappeared, how I drifted, far, far away from myself and abandoned my body – just as I felt abandoned by life and love.
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When you are sexually, emotionally or physically humiliated and destroyed, you feel completely invisible. To not be seen, to be ignored, to not be listened to – even though you are pleading for your life, trying to connect with the abuser to stop the violence and humiliation,, you are completely extinguished as a human being, not only emotionally but in a way even physically. You feel invisible. Your body is still there, but it doesn’t matter. You are just an object, a meat blob. Like closing your eyes but still being able to see everything that is happening around you, everything that is happening  – to you.”
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The most significant thing for me now is to reconnect and experience life (and myself) with everything I am. It is the most spiritual thing I can imagine – to experience happiness, creativity and pleasure where I am deeply connected between mind, body and spirit.
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It isn’t about finding a light in other people – or from a divine leader to be able fill the void inside your soul, it’s all about finding it within yourself and then do something wonderful with it – as a contribution to the external world. That is what spirituality is to me. A self-intimacy and self-compassion that turns into a balanced and warm energy that I want to share with other people. It is simply about taking responsibility for your own happiness and then sharing it with the world – or with somebody else who is your equal so you won’t lose that sense of inner balance and connection. The beautiful inside-the-body-experience.
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There’s a story waiting to be told

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From one of the computer folders of my digital artworks

I’m feeling excited about building this new art show. This is the first phase of creating a collection of digital works and I will make a million changes in the selection and add more to it as I’m creating new ones. I will also incorporate other expressions – paintings, poetry etc. It will be an art show dedicated to my spiritual (and artistic) metamorphosis.

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Digital works being born in my printer’s office at ProImages in Stockholm, 2013

As I am going through all the digital pieces on my computer (so many of them are yet to be printed for the first time) I can see a story unfolding in them. I’ve been working with PhotoShop as an artistic media since 2007 and I’ve reinvented myself many times since then – but ironically I started out making black and white pieces and now I am back to the monochrome palette again.

Early digital works:

“THEY” BY MIA MAKILA – 2007 (DIGITAL) Edition of 5, 36 x 44,5 cm, PRICE: 4000 SEK
“The Gathering” by Mia Makila, 2007 [digital]
“The Strange Girl” by Mia Makila, 2007 [digital]
“The Hitchockian Girl” by Mia Makila, 2007
“Bird Lady” by Mia Makila, 2007

I will try to find a way to tell this story right. To do the important and beautiful processes of spiritual awakening and the metamorphosis justice. It will be a very personal collection of works – and the story will work as closure for me to that particular chapter of my life.

Mia <3 Filip and Fredrik

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I’m watching my favorite Swedes on TV right now – TV/podcast duo Filip and Fredrik  I share an inner Universe with these hilarious and absolutely insane guys. Totally brain porn for people of a neurotic or obsessive (and slightly perverted) personality type.  Listen to their (English)  podcast here.