[2B/-2B]

I mentioned doing some art therapy on myself on another thread. But I thought it may help others to see how it has helped me to assimilate, accept, forgive, and use it to help others... like am trying to do now.

I understand that some people may get flashbacks, and are not prepared to explore my story. I will only show artworks that express what I felt, done, or seen. But non of them will show any graphical personal abuse on my person. This personal journey is not in chronological order, but more in order of how it effected me as a person. So if it gets too much, stop there and leave this thread. I am hoping that will not be necessary.

Okay, the first one is a charcoal sketch called 'Escape Route'. It depicts my bedroom window which runs along the side of my parents house.

When my father was home and drunk, in most cases, it was not safe to be seen or be heard by him. More often than not, if he noticed me, he had some excuse to exercise his anger onto me.
'Out of sight out of mind' became my motto for hiding and prayer.

At first, before leaving my bedroom, I often stood in front of the door, wondering what excuse my father would use to beat me with. "Did I do anything wrong? Did I forget something?"
As soon as my head started to have doubts, I got too scared to open the door. So then it was time to go through the window.

later, to go to the toilet, or to leave the house, I always preferred to climb out the window.
To get back in, I used a small plank of wood as a step. I normally hid the plank under the house.
When my friends saw the plank of wood against the wall, they knew I was home. They would come to the window quietly and call for me. They too were afraid of my father, and for me.

IMAGE: Escape Route.


These days I try very hard to avoid living in doubt. Doubt scares me all over again.
Whenever I feel my doubt keeping me from moving forward, I become determined to break the spell. I have to make a decision.
As soon as I decide on a particular path, doubt tends to disappear.

I have made less favorable decisions in my life, but the decisions based on my conscience have always proven favorable.
To do this, I calm down as best I can. Listen to what my conscience tells me, regardless of my fears.
Then I take a risk, and do my best to follow my conscience.

Also, I still prefer to live in silence. It is not because of an old behavior, but because I am no longer afraid of it.
Before, silence was to avoid being discovered. These days, it is a means to be discovered.
It helps me to become more aware of my true self. Some call it introspection.
Silence is my friend.

Before, I never wanted to be alone. But I had to, to feel some sort of possible escape/reprieve.
After I left home, I used others to hide from my fears of being a mistake (the unloved one).
These days, after discovering who I really am, and not some mistake, I no longer fear myself.
I can live with me today, and no longer need others to make me feel okay.

It saddens me to know that in my early relationships I used to prefer to stay with the enemy than to be alone.
Being alone at that time meant running away from my fears, but I was no longer with the abuser, so it was my own fears that imprisoned me.
But later, others showed me a better way. It took courage to break my own chains (fears) that bound me.
I found that if I focused on my weaknesses and limits, I became too scared to move.
But if I simply focused on my survival strengths and abilities, I found the necessary courage to face my fears.

[Open Eyes]

Wow 2B/-2B you are such a good artist.

There is a paper/magazine called The NewYorker that pays different artists to do cartoons that say things out the box. I actually just watched a special about it on HBO just recently. Well, I used to do that all the time when I made cards for my parents, it never occured to me that what I did was so special tbh, I never even thought about TheNewYorker and how they pay different artists.

Well, perhaps what you can do is keep doing these type of drawings and title them with the theme of what a victim of abuse sees and does. Pictures like this are very important, as while many people can't picture what you just did themselves, they actually appreciate it and take from it more than you realize.

This picture is a good one to keep for your collection, perhaps one day you can use that collection in a way to "have a conversation" in a way you are not realizing just "yet". That is what the artist's drawings did that were put in the NewYorker magazine.

[2B/-2B]

Thanks Open Eyes.

I will think about it. Your suggestions have already made me think of other possibilities too. But first things first, I need to establish an attitude that would help me to carry such a project through. At the moment I have other unfinished business that needs attending to over the next few months. Art for community service ....hmmm.

[2B/-2B]

Little-me

I was about five or six years old when I first experienced myself shrinking in size. It happened during a beating.
I was laying on the floor, and my face was close to the ground, near the front corner of an armchair.
As I looked at the ground near the chair's leg, my whole vision and sense of self started to zoom in onto that spot. I felt as if I was shrinking in size.
I know I was not actually shrinking, but it felt that way. It was as if my whole world view of self was shrinking to a dot, and smaller still.

During a beating, the feeling of shrinking never stopped. Regardless of how small I felt, I still felt I could shrink some more. Though I felt as if I was disappearing, I was still there.

For many years, I would re-experience this feeling, even when I was not abused, but whenever I felt helpless or hopeless.



No matter how small I felt, there was that little bit of me that still felt okay.
That little bit of me was everything I loved about me - the capacity to love, be kind, respectful, and caring.
That part of me came from the love within me, and not something born from fear. It was the only thing I had of any value. No amount of physical abuse could take away that part of me.
Today it is still with me, but abundantly more so.

In recovery, I discovered that my shrinking feeling helped to emphasize my greatest value in life – the capacity to express love. That 'little-me' was like a diamond in the rough.
The shrinking was the striping away of my ego and pride – my false-self. And I was left of me was my true-self, a loving human being.

Another insight for me, is that I know that 'little-me' is untouchable. It is me, and nobody can touch that part of me. It is as if it belongs to my spirit.

I often get reminded of this 'little-me' whenever I watch a good movie about the 'underdog' who rises to their true self. These movies are real tear jerkers for me.

These days, on a daily basis, I experience the joy of my true self through gratitude.

[2B/-2B]

Mind your own business!

Over time, the neighbors on both sides of us, have complained to my father about the abuse. They could hear the commotion from within their own homes.
I was too young, scared, and ignorant to know any different.
I actually thought that all kids got beaten by their parents, and that my beatings were part and parcel of being a bad boy, or worse, being somewhat of a mistake.
I could never seem to please my father, no matter what I did. Even so, I actually believed that my parents were correct, wise, and perfect. They were not to be questioned.

Then one day, half way through a severe disciplinary session, my father got interrupted by a load knocking on the front door. As he went to answer the door, he told me to keep quiet.
This time it was the neighbor across the road complaining. He threatened to call the police if my father did not stop.
My father angrily told him to, "Mind your own business!" and slammed the door in the neighbors face. Then my father blamed me for screaming too load, and said "I'll teach you not to scream!" ....
I thought: 'The police! Surely something is wrong here. This is the third time someone complained about my father. Maybe there is something wrong with him'.
It was the first time I started to realized that something was seriously wrong at home.



Later I questioned my school friends. I then realized that something was wrong with my father.
I did not know from what, but from that time on I purposely tried to avoid him as much as possible.

Decades later, one important lesson I learnt from my childhood neighbors is that whenever two or more oppose my rationality they saw something I do not.
It is more than likely that I am in some sort of denial. This is time to listen to others and to evaluate the truth.
If I am in denial, sometimes it takes a while to see it.

I remember being told by a few people, in group therapy, that I was in denial. I opposed the accusation. As I stormed off, I remembered the two-three people lesson.
So I checked the dictionary to make sure I knew what denial meant. When I read the definition, I realized I already knew what the word meant, but denied it. I thought, 'How crazy is that?'

I thought about my ability for denial. I came to realize that I have to know what I am denying before I can deny it. So I did know what I was doing!
So, for my denial to have the desired effect, to plead ignorance, I must not dwell on whatever it is I wish deny, or it won't work.
My discovery of this truth forced me to be fully responsible for my denials. I can no longer plead ignorance to things I do not wish to face.

The other lesson I learnt is that nobody is perfect. Trust others, but not blindly.
It was a blow to realize that my father was not perfect, yet his imperfection opened the possibility that I was not the mistake I thought I was.

[Open Eyes]

Oh, I like the little me, can so relate to that one 2B.

I was thinking too. I have long thought of finding a way to draw what PTSD is like. I think it can be even worse when the mind remembers so vividly in a creative person.
However, keep drawing because as I mentioned, you may find a way to put it all together in a productive way, informative and theraputic at the same time. Keep in mind how others who struggle may not have the artistic abilities you have but may find your work so validating.

I like your "little me", can relate.

I love your artwork.

I think it's so amazing that you're able to draw the things that you remember and feel. I'm glad it's helping you too.

I think you're a very talented artist and it's awesome that you're healing through art. It's a very fun trade, art, and I think it's even more important in someone's life when it relates to them closely.

[PianogirlPlays]

Very meaningful! How smart of the young you to find a way out.

[2B/-2B]

Thanks Open Eyes, Kori Anders, and PianogirlPlays for your kind responses.

Does PianogirlPlays a piano?

[2B/-2B]

Losing the Plot
During physical abuse I would count, in my mind, the number of hits my father gave me. I did not do this to keep a record, but to get an idea of when the abuse might end.

One evening, when I was about seven, I lost count after 34. Something very different happened to me. My battered body became numb, and I no longer felt the beating. All my fears disappeared. I stopped crying and turned around to see what my father was doing to me. As I turned, I saw my mother, speechless and hiding in the kitchen. I looked straight into my father's eyes. I could see he had lost the plot. I saw his insanity. My father looked into my eyes and knew what I saw in him. He suddenly stopped beating me, and went to hide in his bedroom. I knew then I was the innocent one.

I saw the truth and evil ran away.


Over the next twenty five years, I have learnt several things related to this experience.

a) A large part of my recovery is based on spiritual principles. Over a long time, I have developed conviction, and awareness, that “I” am not my body. I have a body, but it is not really me. I view the body is an organism, or vehicle, for both my mind and soul.

The abuse was of my body, not of me. It only seems to be me when I think I am my body.
When my body went numb, I realized this truth in a way a six year old could. I took this truth with me as I looked into my father's eyes. He too, saw my truth, and snapped out off his moment of insanity.

b) My father's insanity came from extreme fear of losing his self-esteem (ego's pride and its need for respect). His fears blinded him from his own truth.
When my pain left me, so too did my fear. Without my fear I saw things clearly. I saw the truth of the matter.

c) I have heard all sorts of excuses why a parent abuses their children. Non of them made sense. Even the most common excuses, such as learnt behavior, or the war, made no sense to me at all.

The closest thing that made some sort of sense, was when I was addressing my own alcoholism. I realized that my father was also an alcoholic. And as a drunk, we both, now and again, lost the plot. A form of temporary insanity. This is no excuse for violence, but it explains it.

d) Many years later, I learnt that the way of violence has no mind. It is irrational behavior based on irrational fears. Regardless of the stories/excuses, there are alternatives to violence.
Violence, such as abuse or war, cannot be conquered by external means. It can only be resisted within oneself.

e) The final outcome from violence is sorrow. Nothing good comes from violence.
So, regardless of how vengeful I might feel, I need to resist vengeance to avoid harm and sorrow.

f) The role of my mother in this incident baffled me for a long time. I could not understand why she did not try to protect me. My only answer is that her fears of my father blinded her from seeing what was really happening.
Later that night, when I went for a bath, my mother was shocked by the physical damage I received. Reality sunk in for her too.

g) I was sad for my father for he could not admit his mindless violence and sorrow to me. Even after I apologized for my part in our dysfunctional relationship, he could not admit his part to me.

As a six year old, I was unable to overcome further abuse until I left home as a teenager.
Throughout my life, my father never acknowledged his ill-actions to me. However, after he passed away at 73 y.o., my stepmother mentioned that he said to her, “You would not have liked me, when I was younger”. To me, that was an acknowledgement. May he rest in peace.

[2B/-2B]

The Axeman
I was hoping to post one more charcoal image of a psychological abuse, by a stranger, when I was ten years old. But so far I have not been able to form an image that will not include his (perpetrator's) face. I will eventually get around to do the sketch, and when I do I will post it onto this thread.

To explain why it is difficult, it is because there was no physical abuse, and there was nothing to see at the time of the abuse. Just a few minutes of terror for my life. But I have never forgotten it. And I am not the only person who has felt this type of terror.

What happened was... I was walking from school to the train station. I was running a bit late and decided to take a shortcut through the bushland along the railway embankment. Suddenly a man blocked my path. He had an axe resting over his shoulder. He made me strip my pants and underwear down to my ankles, turned me around to have my back to him, and told me to stand still. I was to young to understand what a pedophile was or does. All I had in my mind was whether he wanted to kill me with the axe or not. I was suspended in terror in waiting for the fall of the axe over my head or where my right neck and shoulder meet. Time dragged on. My heart raced and sunk at the same time. Then he told me to dress and leave. Too scared to move, until I heard his footsteps moving away.

A lady from a nearby property saw what was happening. She phoned the police, and comforted my fears until the police took me to the station to question me. I was also scared of the police, but they soon calmed me down. Later they took me home.

A week later, on my way home from school, I saw three police cars parked along the road to the train station. They were waiting for me. The police sergeant asked me to look into a police car to identify the man. As soon as I saw him, I said 'yes'. Suddenly the police got into their cars and drove off with the perpetrator. I never heard anything more from that day on.
_________________
Oh man! that just was a heavy replay. Children are so vulnerable to what is evil out there in the world. Not just outdoors but indoors as well. My only refuge is my spiritual self, that little light of warmth in my heart that constantly tells me I am okay and loved. That love is not from other people but from my understanding of God. God is the father I always wanted and still do today.

Thanks for travelling with me along this memory journey. I hope it may have helped others, as it helped me.

To be continued . . . sometime later.

[Open Eyes]

Originally Posted by 2B/-2B

Losing the Plot
During physical abuse I would count, in my mind, the number of hits my father gave me. I did not do this to keep a record, but to get an idea of when the abuse might end.

One evening, when I was about seven, I lost count after 34. Something very different happened to me. My battered body became numb, and I no longer felt the beating. All my fears disappeared. I stopped crying and turned around to see what my father was doing to me. As I turned, I saw my mother, speechless and hiding in the kitchen. I looked straight into my father's eyes. I could see he had lost the plot. I saw his insanity. My father looked into my eyes and knew what I saw in him. He suddenly stopped beating me, and went to hide in his bedroom. I knew then I was the innocent one.

I saw the truth and evil ran away.


Over the next twenty five years, I have learnt several things related to this experience.

a) A large part of my recovery is based on spiritual principles. Over a long time, I have developed conviction, and awareness, that “I” am not my body. I have a body, but it is not really me. I view the body is an organism, or vehicle, for both my mind and soul.

The abuse was of my body, not of me. It only seems to be me when I think I am my body.
When my body went numb, I realized this truth in a way a six year old could. I took this truth with me as I looked into my father's eyes. He too, saw my truth, and snapped out off his moment of insanity.

b) My father's insanity came from extreme fear of losing his self-esteem (ego's pride and its need for respect). His fears blinded him from his own truth.
When my pain left me, so too did my fear. Without my fear I saw things clearly. I saw the truth of the matter.

c) I have heard all sorts of excuses why a parent abuses their children. Non of them made sense. Even the most common excuses, such as learnt behavior, or the war, made no sense to me at all.

The closest thing that made some sort of sense, was when I was addressing my own alcoholism. I realized that my father was also an alcoholic. And as a drunk, we both, now and again, lost the plot. A form of temporary insanity. This is no excuse for violence, but it explains it.

d) Many years later, I learnt that the way of violence has no mind. It is irrational behavior based on irrational fears. Regardless of the stories/excuses, there are alternatives to violence.
Violence, such as abuse or war, cannot be conquered by external means. It can only be resisted within oneself.

e) The final outcome from violence is sorrow. Nothing good comes from violence.
So, regardless of how vengeful I might feel, I need to resist vengeance to avoid harm and sorrow.

f) The role of my mother in this incident baffled me for a long time. I could not understand why she did not try to protect me. My only answer is that her fears of my father blinded her from seeing what was really happening.
Later that night, when I went for a bath, my mother was shocked by the physical damage I received. Reality sunk in for her too.

g) I was sad for my father for he could not admit his mindless violence and sorrow to me. Even after I apologized for my part in our dysfunctional relationship, he could not admit his part to me.

As a six year old, I was unable to overcome further abuse until I left home as a teenager.
Throughout my life, my father never acknowledged his ill-actions to me. However, after he passed away at 73 y.o., my stepmother mentioned that he said to her, “You would not have liked me, when I was younger”. To me, that was an acknowledgement. May he rest in peace.

The right thing to do was to look into his eyes and you did learn that made the beating stop. Keep in mind human beings are animals too, so, in a case like you describe a predator locks into the fear of the prey, they give chase and get a high off of that which is all primitive animal instinct. If you think about what happened to you with the man that had the ax, he asked you to turn away from him and he wanted you to strip and "be" afraid and you gave him what he asked. He may have seen the woman who saw him and stopped and left because of that, "someone saw him".

[2B/-2B]

Originally Posted by Open Eyes

The right thing to do was to look into his eyes and you did learn that made the beating stop. Keep in mind human beings are animals too, so, in a case like you describe a predator locks into the fear of the prey, they give chase and get a high off of that which is all primitive animal instinct. If you think about what happened to you with the man that had the ax, he asked you to turn away from him and he wanted you to strip and "be" afraid and you gave him what he asked. He may have seen the woman who saw him and stopped and left because of that, "someone saw him".

Thank you Open Eyes.
Yes they too are possibilities.

The one regarding my father, I can see what you are saying about the primary instincts bit, but the other part about the looking into his eyes is true but more so.
To me, the beating, at that point, was meaningless (I was numbed) and I was not trying to stop him from beating me. I just wanted to know his truth, and I saw it, and he knew I saw it.
At that instance truth flowed between us, I saw his and he saw mine. Truth (right conscience) awoke him and he then chose to stop beating me.

What I wish to say here, is that the truth did set us (me and my father) free from a life of fear (at that moment).
This was one of many seeds of truth that now leads me to seek what is my truth so I can become free from the bondage of self. Why self?...
Another truth is that all my suffering stems from the fear stories I have defining my pain of the past, present, and future.
Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. To me, this is a truth, though many don't think so, until they let go of the story that holds pain in the realm of fear (as sort of hell - a suffering).
Whenever I am in pain, I first suffer, then by seeking what I am fearing about it (I can't handle it, It won't go away, etc) and see its deception, the truth lets go of my story about it.
Pain then becomes simply a sensation of the nerves. At this level, my mind is free to focus on other more pleasant things such as my new found gratitude of no longer suffering.
As strange as how all this may sound, it works for me and for countless others.

In regards to the man with the axe. I prefer not to consider any possible worse case scenarios. Though I am grateful it did not get worse.

Thanks again Open Eyes for sharing with me.

[Open Eyes]

The one regarding my father, I can see what you are saying about the primary instincts bit, but the other part about the looking into his eyes is true but more so.
To me, the beating, at that point, was meaningless (I was numbed) and I was not trying to stop him from beating me. I just wanted to know his truth, and I saw it, and he knew I saw it.
At that instance truth flowed between us, I saw his and he saw mine. Truth (right conscience) awoke him and he then chose to stop beating me. quote 2/B

Yes, you got the courage to look at him as you had grown numb to the beating. You looking at him meant you saw "him", and while you are discribing it as a truth between you, YES, and that is what he did not want you to see, once you saw it, it was over.

He was taking his "own" weakness out on you, but once you turned around and looked right at him, he could not continue. He was really weak because he took it out on a mere child. He picked your mother for a reason, "to control her" and that is why she stood there not knowing what to do to help you.

[2B/-2B]

Thanks again open Eyes for your insights.
I will consider what you have shared, extra bits have come to mind that is helping me to further understand my parents.

Originally Posted by 2B/-2B

As a six year old, I was unable to overcome further abuse until I left home as a teenager.
Throughout my life, my father never acknowledged his ill-actions to me. However, after he passed away at 73 y.o., my stepmother mentioned that he said to her, “You would not have liked me, when I was younger”. To me, that was an acknowledgement. May he rest in peace.

2B/-2B, you're awesome . . . it has been quite the journey for you. Still more journey to go, I know.

It is good that such a miserable person is no longer of this earth . . . for those whom he made miserable, and for himself.

The Axeman . . .

There is just no shortage of vile humans in this world. *sigh*

[2B/-2B]

Originally Posted by Onward

The Axeman . . .

There is just no shortage of vile humans in this world. *sigh*

That's true.

I believe that through our survival and recovery, we can become their nemesis by being their opposite: caring, loving, tolerant, patient, forgiving, supportive,... much like the people here.

[2B/-2B]

The Home

In 2009, I visited Sydney for the World Masters Games. Its been since 1977 since I last saw the house I was raised in. It is the house my father built and the place of my abuse.
Both my parents have passed away, and I do not know who lives there now.

While driving the station wagon to the place, I was getting a bit apprehensive.
The closer I got to the place, all sorts of memories were triggered by the familiar streets and buildings, like the corner shop, the bus stop, etc.
Then I turned into the home street. All the houses looked differently. They were either rebuilt or renovated. But the place I was going too was also changed, but it wasn't.

The house was exactly untouched. It was the only house in the street that was hidden by bush. It looked dark in comparison, and it felt dark too.



It took a while before I could get out of the car to check the old place out. The driveway down the side of the house was the same, except for the air-conditioner.
There is my window. I forgot about the window pane next to it.
Gee! I wonder how the people who live there now feel about the place?



It did not take long for me to get in my car and get out of there.

In a strange way, seeing the house as it is, 30 odd years later, confirms to me that there really was something wrong in that household, and it wasn't me. It was not my fault.
I wish my father was not evil in what he done, but he was.
I am glad I no longer have to be stuck in such an environment again.

[Open Eyes]

It is a challenge to revisit the past and feel the hurt and try to work through taming it with finally seeing the reasons for the damage in the individuals that were so dyfunctional.

It really is such a hard journey when one has that hurt/frightened/ inner child they begin to become so much more aware of in this process. Especially when one is an adult and sees how truely helpless a child really is, and feels it on such a deep level.

"In a strange way, seeing the house as it is, 30 odd years later, confirms to me that there really was something wrong in that household, and it wasn't me. It was not my fault.
I wish my father was not evil in what he done, but he was."

Nope, it really wasn't you! No way, no how.

[2B/-2B]

I have used art therapy for other aspects of survival and recovery.
Part of my survival is not just getting to a point of self acceptance as a survivor, but to gain psychological and spiritual growth from the experience.
A huge part of my recovery is from self-honesty, to discover the greater truth of myself.

I learnt a lot about myself from the help of other survivors - especially from old-timers. They survived and went beyond even their own expectations.
They are people who are now serene, patient, tolerant, forgiving, and accepting of self and others. But most of all, they are honest with themselves and others.
They are not afraid to disclose themselves to those who are in need of hope. I found these people in various self-help groups.

The following is a continuation of my art therapy journey.

[2B/-2B]

Lack of self-honesty is my biggest barrier to recovery.
Here is my journey of getting to be honest with myself.

When I was at uni, I discovered a thing called 'secondary gain'. I saw myself instantly.
I used my past for justifications to get drunk (poor me, pour me a drink), to gain sympathy, avoid responsibility for my recovery, justify blaming others for my apathy or inability to change, etc.
Self-honesty revealed these things about myself. Once my truth was out I knew too much truth to deny it any longer.
A huge shift in psychological recovery started from this.

The most important discover was, I was afraid to change. Afraid of being responsible for my self-honesty. Afraid to lose my secondary gains.
In other words, it was my fears that was more problematic than anything else to my recovery.
I had to find what was the real cause for all my fears. After a long search, self-honesty won out again. My fears came from within me.
I was afraid of myself. I was actually scaring myself. How absurd!

It was my ego that was afraid, but from what?
I discovered that my ego was afraid of its truth, that it is just a fabricated story of self, so my mind can make sense of itself.
That is, my ego is not valid, that is why it is always seeking validation (listen to me, look what I know, I need attention, love, etc).
My ego always tries to avoid this truth. It threatens my self-esteem. That is why self-honesty can be so difficult to achieve.
Ego deflation (lowered self-esteem / ego-energy) is a humbling experience my ego desperately tries to avoid.
But if I want to be honest, so the truth will set me free, I have to be okay with humbling myself through self-honesty.

Back to art therapy.
To get a better grasp of all this, I needed to imagine what my ego might look like. I decided upon imagining a ghost in the machine scenario.


Symbolizing ego-vanity.

A different version of loving of self was required of me to regain self-esteem. I suffered deep depression (low self-esteem) when I started recovery.
Therapy and self-help groups gave me tasks to regain enough self-esteem to start looking deeper at other truths about myself (which my ego tried to sabotage me from doing).

To be continued..

[2B/-2B]

My ego, the ghost in the machine.

A note that the ghost in the machine has a smile . . .