Ive decided I must have 2 blogs, one for the artist and one for the damaged me. Like today, I feel like Im going to either explode or die. So Im exploding in words on my computer screen. Hope this helps.
This monster on my back has been with me now for over a year and the ending keeps getting pushed to a few more months, then another few months, and etc. I have other monsters but this is the one Im dealing with now. I have to be ready to move quickly and there is no place to move to. I know where I want to be, what would placate me, but the worlds very stupid rules has eliminated that as a possibility. Im tired of wanting, longing, wishing, fantasizing, thinking positive, thinking negative, crying, freaking out, and most importantly, being disappointed. I live in a constant state of disappointment. It makes you just want to give up, lay down, and never wake up if possible. After this long stint of uncertaity that is basically what I have resorted to doing. I lay in bed, watch TV, and try to sleep as much as possible. My favorite season is passing me by once again because I dont want to be present.
Why did I title this blog the purple poodle? Because a few days ago I made an important emotional connection from now to what happened and how I dealt when I was a small child. My little white dog caused it to happen. Lily, my maltese has recently become a companion service dog. I hug her and love her and she goes everywhere with me now. I was finding it hard to function, even to leave the house. Shes my love and security just as the purple poodle was when I thought I would die. It was just too much for a little girl to deal with and my Grandma recognized I needed a symbolic life raft because I was really drowning. She bought me this purple poodle that I fell in love with in a store window. She surprised me with it, she knew me so well. When I had to go away the poodle was grandma loving me and telling me to be strong. I clung to it many nights and cried in despair. The bad side of the family, where I mostly resided, made fun of it, me, and how attached I was to it. They enjoyed teasing me and watching how upset I got over my poodle. In my mind they were spitting on that which was holy to me, the very thing that had helped me survive them. And yes they were spitting on Grandma too. It really hurt and just made me more attached.
When I was going through cancer at 50, I saw this little white dog in the window and I just had to have her. She is now my purple poodle and shes the only one that can put a smile on my face and comfort me when I feel Im losing it.
What an important connection and comparison that was! Understanding myself just a little more.
