Mood:
flirtyTopic: art in progress
Yesterday was Sunday. Mike cooked a lot. We invited the neighbors over for brunch. Mike had set the table the night before with our Jadeware serving pieces. For a wedding gift my mother had greatly expanded my collection, and this was the first time we could put our new pieces to work.
I found out that my neighbor's mother was paranoid schizophrenic and had killed herself. Then my neighbor had to raise her younger siblings. After she told me I asked her, "Was she able to love you?" and the gloom went away from her face, replaced with happiness. It was a good question, and I think that it will always be the first that I ask after such a confession. I have asked it before of an adult child of a schizophrenic. When I asked it before the answer was "No, not really". It is perhaps the first important fact to know about a schizophrenic parent, that is, could they see past their illness to nurture a child. Some can and some can't.
As for the suicide, I said that I could understand why, with the tone of voice implying, "of course". Don't get me wrong about suicide. My paranoid schizophrenic friend Frances killed himself and the fallout destroyed the mental health of my friend - I hate what he did to the people who loved him. But for himself, well, it was his choice given the circumstance he was in. I think I understand the circumstance of this illness very well. The primary reason I take medication is that it dulls the pain of the schizophrenia. Not to think better or work better or be more social. Just a simple run from pain, that is all medication is first and foremost. When my neighbor's mother was alive all that was available was Haldol, none of the fancy stuff I take. And then she had to live with the guilt of who she was surrounded by children who needed her to be well. The guilt of being sick when you are surrounded by those who are well is enormous.
Mike's daughter once said that she wanted to give her younger brother a loaded gun and say, "Make a choice. Kill yourself or not. Right here, right now." See, she and her mother were tired of him being mentally ill and always overdosing on medication and ending up in the hospital. They were tired of him trying to commit suicide. It would ease their minds if he just succeeded - neither the mother or the daughter wanted to see the manifestation of his pain anymore. Well, the girl was being as honest then as when she said on my wedding day, "Now I won't inherit any of my dad's stuff until after you die."
I think that part of my illness is that I can't get comments like those out of my head. They echo through time and taunt me, saying, "See, this is the human condition. This is the truth of the way all people think. They can be monstrous. And are you too a monster Karen? Have you had any such thoughts too, in private, to yourself?"
This is the beginning of a new oil pastel drawing. It has a long way to go. Last week at art class I had just finished the underlying pencil drawing. Now they get to see it with some color on it.
I am motivated to work because I want to show something new and impressive to my art teacher Ellen. Maybe some of the other students will like my drawing too. I want to show progress at each class. Doing the work at home alone is easier because I think about my next class.
It is enormously exciting to be making work that can be shared with other artists. It is fun too to see their work, but, their work makes me a little sad. I wish I could be jealous and envious of someone. I wish I could have a hero in class. Somebody to ask questions to because I wanted to learn their secrets. That would be fun.
The founder of my art school is dying of cancer. He was in intensive care last Wednesday and our teacher Ellen said that family members were gathering by his side. So I wonder if he will be dead by now. Ellen is going to be very sad. I thought that when I show her this drawing I can promise her that her friend is going to be with angels. I won't say that, even though I'd like to.
I'd like to say that being schizophrenic is not the same as being a psychic. Psychics usually don't have a mental illness. So they get to see angels and hear from angels.
Because I'm sick I'm simply wide open. There is no purpose to my contact with the supernatural. No conversation, no communication, just, immersion. Every day is a wandering through forces of good and evil, take it or leave it, my mind lies flat like it is it's battlefield. I am a battlefield. Not the players who fight, just, the ground that is trampled. The ground that is witness. The ground that is unmoving and dumb.
I can tell Ellen that I have a personal angel and her name is Miranda. Her wings are big and white and she is always naked. Her hair is red and she is a warrior type. Her personality is rather fierce. A psychic helped me to meet her, the angel talked to the psychic and then the psychic talked to me. After that it was really easy to form a relationship with Miranda. But schizophrenia was no help in meeting Miranda. Neither does schizophrenia help me to maintain my relationship with Miranda.
I do think that the choice of drawing angels is part of my schizophrenia. Angels are more important than a bowl full of fruit or a landscape. And that value system is definitely pure schizophrenia.
Posted by dignifyme
at 3:43 PM EST
Updated: Monday, 6 February 2006 11:41 PM EST
happy
on fire
I took two pictures for you today. The first is my painting before work on it. The second is my painting after today's work. Painting is very slow, disciplined work. There is no frenzy of creativity here. And frankly, there is very little advancement. I do a little every day and day after day my small efforts add up. Frequently, just like doing the dishes, I must visualize myself painting before I can actually find the energy and willpower to paint. Yes, I look forward to making art. But often I look forward to doing it because when I paint - I prove - that I exist. Again, this illness rots out your brain. I have to scratch and claw for every small task that defines the kind of person I am. It is true that what you do makes the person that you are. If I grow several beautiful, flowering, deep purple African violet plants, does that make me less sick? Yes. Yes it does. I'll have to take a picture of my African violet plants for you. They bring peace, love, and joy into our apartment. And that they live and thrive, this is proof of my control over my illness. God doesn't care if what you do is big or small. He only wants it to be good.
You aren't an anomaly. Probably most people think like you. So, how am I ever going to get you all to walk in my shoes?
spacey
bright
The first sketch for the marriage picture was made just from my imagination and I like it the best. In it I tried to do a rough estimate of my own wedding dress. However, Mike was disappointed that the horse didn't look sexier in her dress. Of course he had no idea he was insulting my own gown. So I went to the library and looked at designer gowns in a Vogue magazine. And at that black tie event there were tuxedos too.
Mike never ceases to amaze me what he can teach me about affection. He once warned me, "you can break a kitty-cat's heart" when I left the new cat from the rescue pound in a dog crate for too many days. Logic says the cat is used to being caged, but as it seemed, she knew that she had been rescued and she desperately wanted to live with us. When I ignored her pitiful cries, yes, I was breaking her heart. At the time ignoring a little mewing seemed like the strong thing to do. But after Mike spoke I felt very ashamed about my former "strength". Unable to hear the need in the cat's voice for whatever reason, it really was a weakness of my capacity for love.
Mike and I will be printing a small icon of the cat and the horse on our wedding invitations. But the best part is that this image, once it is dry, (because it is made from oil paint and that dries slowly!) will be taken to a giclee printmaker. The thank you presents for all the guests at the wedding will be a 5"1/2 x 7"1/2 silver framed print of, "The Mystical Marriage of the Kindly Cat to the Nobel Horse".
Bill MacPhee is the publisher & creator of "Schizophrenia Digest". It is a high quality magazine designed for people who have schizophrenia.
MacPhee chooses to frequently publish short articles by persons with schizophrenia. It's great fun to see what these writers look like, pictures of them sipping coffee in a New York City bistro or standing in the middle of a stream fly fishing. And then, how I love to read their crisp, clean prose. 
Hats off to you Zachary, I can't wait to see what your future brings.