I intend to paint in less than 2 hours and am killing time until then. In the Won’t Settle music video, confusing the two guitarists seems be done on purpose, so that often as I watch I’m not sure if I’m seeing Carmen or the other guitarist, as they both have the blond hairdos and black bomber jackets that my ex boy’friend’ probably wears to this day in his pumped up wheelchair. I’m looking forward to painting and am veering toward a yes, about whether to further paint Morrissey’s face or just skip to painting the background and signing the portrait. I have the desire in my fingers to further paint his face, so that’s probably what I will do when the clock strikes midnight here in Vancouver. I’m so impressed with my counsellor, and Carmen Vandenberg, and Bones UK, and Morrissey, and The Kettle Society which funded my counselling up till this point. Victims’ services is what I’m relying on to take up the funding where The Kettle Society reached its limit of 25 sessions. It’s f***ing something like $300 a pop. I’ve watched Won’t Settle at least 3 times now. I like the music video and song so much. It’s great to see the two women and one man in the video obviously enjoying expressing themselves. The singer is beautiful and Carmen is gorgeous. The man is interesting to watch too. I like the singer’s eyes especially.
I’ve got abusive people’s faces floating around in my mind’s eye after talking about them with my counsellor this morning and then receiving her draft of a report to victims’ services she sent me a few hours ago to check for accuracy. The director of Summerhill Group Homes in Montreal, for instance, who ‘spanked’ me until he ejaculated on my buttocks when I was 12, when he was supposed to be acting as a social worker for one appointment. He had the whole office floor to himself on that occasion, probably planned that way to get me alone and waste my time when he was supposed to be providing me with care. I think his last name was Hirshback. He didn’t penetrate me. He didn’t physically hurt me as the spanking wasn’t even real. He just pretended to spank me so that he could have an excuse to fondle my ass. But he wasted my time and got esteemed socially for ‘caring’ for children, when he was really just warehousing and using them. My reward was getting a foster home, where the foster father was abusive, and my social worker, Sylvia Barzlay, didn’t give a damn, so I learned to run away. Reading the report my counsellor wrote, has made me realize how silenced people with PTSD are, how suppressed we are. We are expected to bottle it up and pretend to have only pleasant subjects on our minds. We are shamed and shunned if we say what’s really on our minds. It’s a crime. A crime, to cover up crimes. I don’t even remember what PTSD stands for and have been taught that only men who’ve gone to war have it. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s what made me go psychotic several times. Not schizophrenia. I’m stuck with that diagnosis, but it’s a false label now. Temporarily, sure, but not now, and never again. Since I heard Morrissey sing my name, etc, I care about myself enough to watch my mind for potential psychosis, and weed it out fast.
I have ex boy’friends’ faces floating around in my head, and my sister’s, and abusive ‘caregivers’ from my childhood, my sister being one of them, and rapists galore from childhood and adulthood, and people who’ve randomly tried to hurt me just to be gratuitously spiteful, many who succeeded in taking a chunk out of me, in some cases literally i.e. surgeons who are brats with surgical knives and doctors using biopsy instruments when there’s no valid need to, other than to get their sadistic kicks when I’ve asked them as a vain 20 year old, to remove scars from my lips, which left me with new scars, which were much worse, because they look like blisters.
But, I’ve been meeting a lot of kind people lately, and have had great low cost housing since October 2017, and many organizations have recently come out of the woodwork to help me in a variety of ways, and the art supplies store gives me a 15% discount because I’ve spent so much money there. I come out not making any money whatsoever from my art, when it’s all tallied up. I spend way more on art supplies than I collect back, but that’s okay, for me, though it’s not good for other artists who need to make a decent profit to sustain themselves, paying high rent etc. Maybe I’ll get around to thinking about charging what I should. I never will. I’ll never get around to it. I don’t even know if I will be physically healthy enough to submit art to the Eastside Culture Crawl show in November, if it happens again this year. Right now, my right lung’s not bothering me at all, and I am looking forward to painting Morrissey’s face more. Right now, I feel like I’m healthy. I have Won’t Settle in my head. I wonder if Morrissey’s watched the music video of it. He must have a crush on Carmen, and the singer of Bones UK, and the male guitarist, Morrissey must have a crush on everyone. The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get. Morrissey, will you show up again soon? And reach out your hand and touch me this time? Don’t let me go to my grave before feeling your touch. I know, you’re criminally and cripplingly shy, but you can touch me. I know you can if you want to. Anyway, I think I’m all grown up now and will connect with you if you give me another chance to, even if you don’t aggressively or rather, assertively reach out and grasp my arm, for instance. I would be so sad if you gave me another try and I still didn’t make the connection. I would try to take it in stride, but that would be difficult. I’ve taught myself to be observant of people, even if they don’t look like you, so I won’t miss you this time, if there will be a “this time”. I will pick up on your cue(s) and follow through, like I should do hoo, oh ho. I have grieved enough and learned from it, from chances you gave me that I didn’t pick up on while you were accessible to me. I have learned well, I believe, and will be keen to respond to you. It’s too late not to inhale that cloud of mold spores a year ago, but with what time I have left, I’m yours. In my own sick way, I’m yours. And I’ve never been happier. I’ve been typing so long, that it’s moving on to midnight soon here, so I’ll postpone painting until 1AM, while I make peppermint tea, maybe read some true crime, maybe write on paper. Won’t Settle is such a good song. Do you like it Morrissey? I bet you do. I bet you rejoice when you hear it. Just like I do.
