Thoughts through the autumn rain

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. The trees are colored in all the warm nuances I can think of. I’m feeling better but I’m still not well. I went to a massage place earlier this week and the masseuse told me my neck and my shoulders are tense and hard like concrete.  Of course they are, I’ve been going through many heavy things for a long period of time and I’ve been very inactive. It’s funny, I tried to take care of my body but got so worried and stressed that I made everything worse. I am so out of sync with myself. I am working so hard to overcome my fears that I forget about my body. I have only been connected between body-mind-soul for a year or so, I guess it will take some time to find a good balance. It was so much easier to live in the disconnection, because I could just go on neglecting one part of me or another without feeling the consequences. I often go back to read my therapy notes from the time where I began my process of reconnecting, it is a sad display of self-neglect and confusion: “Mind = truth, Heart = can not trust, Body = stranger”.

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Marianne

Marianne by Mia Makila. 2011 (acrylic on panel)

My body-mind disconnection is visible in my art as well, where the characters are missing limbs and have enlarged heads.

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I need to find a way to take care of every part of my existence; mind/body/heart/soul/core and celebrate the wonderful things they bring me. I have to live healthy in all parts. I want to liberate them from their old cages, chains and limitations. I will try to focus more on the good things. To be in the moment with my body, my mind and my soul. To laugh. Often. And loud. To be creative. Focused. Using uninhibited and unlimited imagination. I want to dance. Hard. Wildly. To feel the love I get. To feel it all the way. Deeper. To take longer walks. And meditate. To let go of negative energy. To shake it off.

Opening the black box

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Even though I woke up with anxiety, I also woke up with a assertiveness and will to go against it. This summer, I’ve been consumed with fear and worries and it has triggered some kind of meta anxiety (anxiety based on anxiety alone). It is not even real. And I need to open the black box that contains my fear to examine what they are all about so I can accept in – and finally let it go, before the anxiety takes over and I’ll end up in another depression. So, I have to do this.

I’ve already dissected my ‘ladder of anxiety’ that leads to fear and panic attacks. Since I’m highly intolerant to uncertainties and everything in my life right now is filled with uncertainties, any problem that brings another uncertainty will trigger the anxiety and I’ll keep climbing down the ladder:

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When I reach the level of anxiety, it all spirals down to panic pretty quickly, especially at the critical ‘point of no return’ when my mind has made up various future catastrophes in hopes of solving the gap, created by the threatening uncertainty. Since I am struggling with PTSD, my mind automatically goes to the worst case scenario because that has often been my reality. It once was a way to protect myself – a survival strategy, but now it doesn’t have any function and instead ruining any peace of mind.

I’ve been making a lot of research about anxiety and how to deal with it, the best strategies I’ve come across so far is learning how to deal with the worries and the nature of problem-solving/ accepting and letting go, and also becoming more tolerant to uncertainties. So I made a new ladder to see where exactly I should make a change:

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The trick is to stop the movement down the ladder at the second stage of worrying – instead of going to the next level where anxiety takes over, I have to be aware of my worries and pause – so I can ask myself “is there something I can do to fix this uncertainty?”, if there is something I can do I need to be better and more effective when it comes to solving problems, if there isn’t anything I can do, I need to accept it and let it go. Both ways will stop me from going down the ladder. I just need to celebrate the positive outcome and stop confirming the bad ones where I’m feeling like a victim (“bad things always happen to me”) and to trust myself to handle whatever crap that will come my way. I have survived many difficult things and I’ve always landed on my two feet.

I am stronger than any shit-storm.

2010

2010

And there really is something fundamentally important about the message in this silly song:

The toxic pessimism

My black box holds a lot of things, but they all have something in common and it’s whenever I start a sentence with:

  1. What if…
  2. I can’t…
  3. Bad things always happen to me, so…
  4. I’ve already tried it and it didn’t work, so…

My black box of fear is filled with negative assumptions and pessimistic expectations. This is a great list to remember and to exercise the awareness with. To be aware of one’s behavior is one step closer to actually changing it. Yep, I’m on my way. Instead of the toxic ‘what if’s I will try to ask myself ‘what is?’ – to stay in the moment instead of taking the mental highway straight to a future catastrophe.

The black box

All the Bears In My Garden

All the Bears In My Garden by Mia Makila, 2012

With my black box.

I’ve been thinking about this thing about being without a thinking box. I do HAVE a box (other than my own core). It is my fear. My black box. I’ve even put it into my work a few times. Every thought process is filtered through this box. Always. It’s what a trauma does to your mind after a long time of feeling unsafe and judged. I used to be scared of everything, but I’ve dealing with so many fears in therapy and in my art, I do feel I’ve overcome so much of it. But there is still a black box inside my mind. I think it contains residue form my trauma, but nothing more than that. There is no real substance to my fear anymore. It’s almost like a phantom fear – no longer real but still present.

I have already been writing so much about this fear. The fear of happiness. Love. Success. The world outside my own head. Life.

It’s a twisted fear, not about the dark but about the light.

2012

2012

I wonder what could erase this fear and eliminate the black box. I think I know the answer already. It’s trust. Faith. Acceptance. Peace of mind.

And I’m working hard to achieve all that. Perhaps I’ll always have a black box inside my head – maybe we all have one, but I want to make it shrink and empty the box as much as I can.

The box

The mysterious blue box in Lynch’s Mulholland Drive (2001)

I’m getting great professional guidance while looking for a job so I can finance my future art projects. It’s hard for me to find a job since I don’t have much work experience in the “real world”. I’ve worked in a few museums as a receptionist but that’s about it. Talking to various job coaches I’ve come to realize something interesting about myself. When it comes to “thinking outside the box”, I’ve never thought inside the box – and I don’t even have a box! I’ve never seen the box!  I’m utterly box-less! And this is the reason why it’s so very hard for me to find a job but also keeping a job.

To be without a box is what freedom is all about and something very positive to me. But it does cause problems when I’m supposed to function in the world outside myself. Society is all about inside-or-outside-the box thinking, but the is no room for a person like me who doesn’t understand the concept of either of them. I don’t know how to suddenly find a box so I can think inside or outside it – or how to use this box-less way of thinking as a resource in a work place instead of it being a shortcoming.

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As an artist, a life without the box is essential and necessary in order for the imagination to run free and wild. The only box I have and need, is my own core.

Perhaps I can create my own box or study the one most people seem to have a relationship to, so I can play by the rules of the real world. I don’t know if it’s possible or even a good idea, I just discovered this and I need to understand it more. I believe it’s a good thing to be box-less but it makes everything more complicated. I wish I knew where I belong in this world that’s full of unknown boxes and the different approaches and proximity to them. I wish it was easier for me to adjust to it all.

My sexy, sexy vulnerability

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Last week I watched Iliza Shlesinger’s latest stand up show “Confirmed Kills” on Netflix and she was making a lot of jokes about sexuality and male porn fixation that I found interesting rather than funny. Especially what she said about female vulnerability and how men only think they want strong and independent women but it’s the vulnerability they really want. Think about it. High heels. You can’t run in high heels. Makes him feel in control. Makes her vulnerable. A skinny body – now that’s just oozing vulnerability. Silly, stupid blondes – a vulnerability that makes men feel smarter and better about themselves; “please help me do this because I caaan’t!”, “please help me explain that because I don’t understaaand”. He’ll be happy to help her.

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My most vulnerable looks (2009-2010)

It’s a thing now days for young girls to PLAY stupid in front of boys. I’ve done it. I’ve lived in relationships where that role playing was the foundation of the attraction. This was of course my ‘Lolita’ curse, that I’m dealing with in my art right now.

It was partly my fault – I was looking for security and a authority figure because it was a familiar pattern from my childhood and I had no idea that I could be my own authority figure (my own Goddess). My need to feel comforted during the years with daily PTSD symptoms also played a big part in my Lolita role playing.

My vulnerability has been my most attractive quality – both in my art and writing but also when it comes to men. They have loved it. They couldn’t get enough of it. And their hunger for it almost destroyed me. It mostly attracted narcissistic men or men who wanted to feel powerful. I once had a brief online flirt with an English teacher from Baltimore. He was charming and showed himself vulnerable so he could get to mine. And he did. After a while he started to be cold, harsh and unreliable – and became very domineering. I ended it. After a year he showed up in my inbox with a link and said “I’ve found a girlfriend that I can be myself with and I’ve started living faithfully to who I am”. I didn’t understand what he meant, so I opened the link and it was a blog about their sado-masochistic adventures where he was the dominate partner and she was the submissive one. He had a talent for writing so he made their adventures into little short stories. I read a few. And I felt shocked. He described how he loved cutting her with razor blades while having sex and how she loved being cut, how she enjoyed being fucked while suffering from a stomach flu with a very high fever. It was all about her suffering and the empowerment of his ego. It was so sick. I felt nauseous.

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In one of the posts he described exactly how he got his victims. How he played vulnerable to get under their skin. How he played their vulnerability like a puppet master. I couldn’t believe it. That’s what he had been doing to me! He saw me as a potential victim, during our conversations. Gross.

It wasn’t until I met a similar guy online that I realize that I have to change my behavior in order to stop attracting these abusive men. I stopped being over-vulnerable and started to protect it. I will never stop being vulnerable in my work, but I don’t have to waste my vulnerability on strangers or people who doesn’t deserve it.

My vulnerability is one of my most precious qualities and it isn’t for other people to play around with so that they can feel stronger, smarter or better about themselves. It is sexy because it is me in my most naked form,  it isn’t sexy because it makes me look weak in front of a man. Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness. Taking advantage of someone else’s vulnerability to be able to stroke the ego is a weakness. Being unable to be vulnerable is a weakness. Not being able to appriciate vulnerability is a weakness. Judging vulnerabilities is a weakness.

Daring to be vulnerable is beautiful. And real. So fucking real.

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1 year ago

I posted this video on September 27th last year. So much has happened since then, but letting go of something difficult was a far more complex process than I’d expected. I was just in the beginning of it when I made this video. I am still working on it, but I’ve come farther since then. What I was lacking then – was a total acceptance, a very important element in the process of letting go of something old and familiar but destructive. Otherwise whatever you are trying to let go of, will start to haunt you again at some point. And it did. What I accepted then was that it would come back to haunt me – I refused to accept the situation as it was without wanting to wait it out. I am not waiting anymore, I am letting it go. It is painful but liberating. Just as it should be to let go of something difficult. It is natural but it will pass. The result is an inner peace. It’s worth going through this hard process. It’s so worth it.

I can’t wait to be really uncomfortable

I woke up but felt more exhausted than before I fell asleep. I’ve been too tired to even leave the apartment today. But I’m not worried, this seems to be a natural healing process for my recent stress. I’m just surrendering to it without making any resistance. I’m at the end point of this process of independence that I’ve been working on since early spring. I have worked really hard to get rid of self images where I’m submissive, wrapped in co-dependency or need an authority figure to lead my life in the right direction. I need to be my own authority figure (my own Goddess) and I have figured out why I’ve been so hungry for dependency when I’m totally allergic to the submissive position. I know all there is to know about my inner obstacles and what I have to do to overcome them. There are no more theories that needs to be thought out, there’s no more research to make about how to change from a learned submissive position to reach my own independence. I am at the edge of all my theories – all I need now is to practice them in real life, and I’m so uncomfortable by the thought. It’s a good sign. I NEED to be uncomfortable in order for a change to happen.

I have a great support system around me. I’ve never been closer to my parents than I am at this time in my life and it means the world to me. We’ve worked hard to reach a place of sincerity, friendship and acceptance. I’m very grateful for everything they’ve done for me during these last years of hardships and struggles. I don’t have many friends but I have a few girlfriends that I can talk to about anything and everything and they are there for me no matter what. It makes me a fortunate person, I don’t take friendships for granted because I’ve spent most of my life rather socially isolated. I do not click with many people. I have understood that I see too deep into other people and some (most) feel uncomfortable with that kind of intimacy and it requires a shared, equal vulnerability, something that threatens people a lot. So my isolation is not about avoidance, it is about a general disconnection with most people and I don’t want any disconnections in my life. I have some people I really click with in my life, both men and women and it is all I need from the world outside myself. I don’t need more.

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My parents

Then there’s Johnny.  Our talks are so dreamlike. The way we see each other and push each other out of our shells or hiding places, we feed on the warm energy it creates and use it to get stronger and more confident in ourselves. Our love is so much based on being seen and to see. To listen in order to understand and accept. To build and add to each other instead of taking. We usually talk for 4-6 hours during the weekends and our conversations are the most stimulating ones I’ve ever had with anybody. We laugh. Cry. Analyze things. We are being nerdy. Goofy. Intellectual. Creative. Artistic. Intimate. We don’t talk much about the future, we are one with the moment. It is amazing. Especially for me who’s been dissociative and lost in the symptoms of PTSD for a long time. I was never really present in the moment during those years. Only when I was making art and even that is like being somewhere else.

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What I need to do now is to stop writing down theories and instead go out in the world and face my fears. Perhaps even all of them. One by one. First step is to find a job that will give me some financial relief so I won’t put so much pressure on myself to paint for an audience. I’m totally petrified when it comes to working with other people, but I have to trust that people won’t treat me badly just because I have so much bad experience of it in my past.

I can’t hide behind my notebooks anymore. I can’t be comfortable in my isolation anymore. I need to be uncomfortable if I want to live my life instead of avoiding it. I can’t wait to be all freaked out. I can’t wait to go against my anxiety and not listen to what it wants me to do and instead do what I need to do, to be able to reach the goals I’ve set for myself.

And there are things happening. I’m on my way. I’m collaborating with Candice Angelini, working on my new collection of works, planning my upcoming art show and on Tuesday my latest art interview will be posted (I’ll post a link on this blog). And there is my future with Johnny, always present in my heart like a happy little flame to feel when I’m having a bad day. I just need to get out of this place of being broke and stuck – then I’ll be able to reach all of the wonderful things that are waiting for me.

The past is the past

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It’s a stormy morning. But I feel calm on the inside. I’ve left the recent chaos behind, it disappeared when summer died. When I think about it, many things died this summer, so much fear, many distorted self-images and impossible fantasies. Good riddance. I feel lighter, but at the same time more grounded in myself. More present. I still don’t feel well enough to work with my art, but I can’t wait to start a new piece.

I hate that I have so many ideas but so little energy to make them happen. I need to find more ways to relax and charge the batteries. I can’t stand the idea of all those wonderful things always being stuck inside my mind and never expressed. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.

From now on I will never let my past destroy my present again. It is the only poison I have in my life – my past. And it is no longer part of my reality and  therefore shouldn’t be ruling my present. I’ve been careless with my thoughts and squandering my emotions on things which are out of my control. I’ve tried to fix my past by waiting for the broken pieces to come together, but now I am abandoning the pieces. They don’t fit anywhere, they never did. There’s a hole now, where they used to be, but I don’t feel broken because they are gone. I thought I would. I am able to breathe more easily now. But I feel very tired. And I miss Johnny.

I will continue to rest and charge my batteries. I will take a walk and I have an appointment at a massage parlor. I’m doing my best to find a way back to my strength that was stolen by this cruel summer.

Odd selfies

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

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

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”

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

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.

The cat

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.