The Paintings Are Up

 

All is ready for the Phoenix Art Exhibition.

 

Today we hung all our paintings up. It took from 11.30am until 7pm, but it's all done and looks fantastic. All we need now is people through the doors.

 

I have 24 paintings in this exhibit. Most are ink on canvas. A few are acrylic. All are fire elemental energy paintings.

 

I hope people buy some. All the money from sales is going to the bushfire appeal. It would be good to have a substantial amount to donate.

 

Over this next week I won't have much time for anything other than the exhibition. I have to be there at the door every day until it closes.

 

I'll take my laptop I guess. That way, when there are quiet times, I'll have a chance to get a little work done. Probably some editing.

 

It's late now. I have a load of washing to put in the dryer for tomorrow.

 

Cheers for now.

Conversation with my Adopted Mother

As part of an exercise in Life Coaching, we had an assignment to write a conversation we'd like to have with someone who has/had/ influence over our lives. I took this opportunity to say all the things I wish I really could say to my adopted mother. For reasons which will become clear to you if you read it, this conversation will never take place.

This was not an easy conversation to write, and I understand that for many people, it won't be easy to read. But it is what it is, and through actually writing it down, through acknowledging that this was my reality, I feel somewhat liberated.

So... for what it's worth, here's my conversation:

Conversation with my Adopted Mother

I know who you are. I know what you are.

You are a damaged soul. You have a personality disorder. You are a Sadistic Narcissistic Psychopath.

Nature selected you to never be able to have a baby of your own. Unfortunately, there are ways around that, and you were handed an innocent, helpless child. You were given me.

Because of you I grew up knowing only darkness, isolation, fear.

You are not an educated or intelligent human being, but you are extremely cunning.

For the first six years of my life, I was fostered, therefore you could not do whatever you liked because authorities were randomly looking over your shoulder. However, once the adoption went through, everything changed.

I remember that day. I remember the look in your eyes. I didn’t understand it at the time. I didn’t recognise your expression. Now I know what it was. It was a look of pure hate. That’s something I’ve never actually seen on anyone else. Real hate is not a common emotion. People use the word a lot, but the real thing, when it creeps onto a person’s face, is utterly terrifying. I can’t even explain the feeling I had back then – and I was only 6 or 7.

From that moment on, I hid. I hid my personality. I hid my talents. I hid my emotions. I hid myself. It was my only defence against your tyranny.

You were relentless in your emotional and mental torture.

You stole my innocence. You stole my faith in humanity. You stole my life.

One day when you were tired of dragging me along with you while you shopped, when you thought nobody was looking, you threw me out in front of a bus. If it were not for the quick reflexes of another lady who grabbed my arm and yanked me back to safety, I would be dead. You grabbed me from her and belted me with your handbag and screamed to everyone that I had been very naughty and ran out on the street. Everyone sympathised with you. You poor thing. You’d had such a shock. What a dreadful child. I was not even game enough to cry. But I remember. This was the first of many such incidents when I was still small. I remember them all. The lesson was well learnt.

For years I led a double life. I’d go to school and be a “normal” happy child who enjoyed playing with my friends and enjoyed life. When I came home, I retreated into darkness, quietness, I hid. I did everything I could to be invisible to everyone. I tried to stay out of trouble. I tried in the only way I knew how, to survive.

And still I loved you. You were my mother. You were doing this for my own good. After all, that’s what you kept telling me. I was adopted. I was bad. You had to straighten me out. I should be grateful. If I wasn’t, I would be “sent back”.

As I grew older, and you felt that your control over me was weakening, your cruelty accelerated. You grew more and more manic. Your outright cruelty to me had no boundaries. Nobody knew. You appeared so nice to everyone else. You had me so terrified that I never spoke out. I told no-one. I knew my life would be over if I did. Even Dad was under your control. To keep the peace, he became your enabler. He delivered victims to you for slaughter, and how you loved tearing them down. I watched it all. I learnt. I remembered.

Still, I loved you. Your hatred of me was soul-destroying, but I loved you. You were my mother.

I’m sad to admit that my love for you faded over time. I educated myself about people like you. I eventually freed myself of your influence.

This was hard. Harder than anyone can imagine. I still have to struggle against the conditioning you put into place. I still have to remind myself that you have no influence over me anymore. I still have to be aware of how diabolical you can be.

I want you to know that despite all that you did physically, emotionally, spiritually, psychically, I survived. I found myself. I am going to become the person I was meant to be.

I know that telling you these things to your face would never work. You hear only what you want to hear. Even now, you yell and scream over the top of anything I might have to say. You still will not relinquish your quest to destroy me totally. I don’t understand why, but I accept that you are who you are. There is no changing that.

Now that you are old and infirm, you see your only way of controlling me is through your money. You have made your Will to exclude me – your only child – and your two grandsons who also have recognised what you are and have nothing to do with you. You might think I have poisoned their minds against you, but I never did that. I allowed you to be their grandmother while being very careful not to let you do to them what you did to me. My sons are intelligent. They made their own minds up about you. I have never forced them to visit you. I understand that they do not want any contact with you – as sad as that may seem to outsiders.

I do not want anything from you. I’m not after your money or any of your possessions. When you die, I don’t care what you do with your estate. There is nothing in me that cares about such things.

As for you... I will not abandon you completely. Even though I have very little contact, I will not let you suffer alone in your old age. I refuse to look after you myself. I will not get that close to you. You are still a danger to me.

However, I will make sure you are well taken care of. I refuse to allow myself to be hardened or made to sink to your level of cutting people off whom you don’t like. I would like nothing more than to have no more contact with you, but I will not do that. I will make sure you are alright.

I will not be like you. I can never be. I am a free spirit. A kind spirit. I am an ancient spirit. I am a survivor. I have survived you.

It has been necessary for my sanity and spiritual health that I remove all influence you have over me. I have done that. Now I am safe to have some contact with you without fear that you will upset me in any way or be able to have any influence with your soul-destroying ways. Now, anything you say, do, or mean to do, has no affect. Your nasty thoughts, words and deeds mean nothing. You mean nothing to me. I find it sad that it has to be this way, but for my own safety, this is the way it is.

It is very sad that you will never get to know me as a person. We will never have a mother-daughter relationship, or even a friendship. I know that you are not capable of such things. Your personality disorder prevents you from thinking as a normal human thinks and feeling as a normal human feels. That is sad for you.

My life with you has given me experience in matters most people will never know – thank God. Thanks to you, I have an inner strength and sense of self that cannot be extinguished. I know that no matter what happens to me, no matter how cruel people can be, they will never have more than a passing influence over my being. My light cannot be dimmed.

As hard as it is for me to acknowledge your part in that, I thank you for forcing me to be strong, for forcing me to find myself and be able to rely on myself to get me through anything.

I am me, because of what you are.

Plays, Stones, Lattes & Science Fiction

It's not getting any less busy around here. In fact, I think it might even be busier than before.

How does that work? I thought things would settle down and be a bit less manic after the True Blue Aussie Review play finished. But no... there's still a steady string of visitors coming and going, and there's still a heap more paintings to do for my Phoenix art exhibition. Quieter after the play? More time for writing?

Not so.

These days the only writing time I'm getting is when I go down to the Idyl Book Cafe to do my Gypsy Stone Readings. Between readings I set up my laptop and put in a little quality writing time. What can be better than that? Sipping lattes and writing science fiction. Not bad at all.

It is only one day per week, but that is one whole day per week of writing. That's more than I can manage at home at the moment. Stolen time's the best, isn't it? It's almost a guilty pleasure. An indulgence. All the sweeter for the taking.

[Insert maniacal laughter here]

Oh, that's right. Full moon tonight. I might have known. It brings out the worst in me... or perhaps the best. Who knows?

Catch up soon.

Brittany K.