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Dis.association Series [Piece 3]
#watercolorpainting #art #amateurartist #ptsd #mentalillness #ptss #disassociation #wellness #arttherapy #anxiety #artforthesoul #winsorandnewton #watercolorartist #watercolor #painting #artdiary #artjournal #illustration
#watercolor#amateurartist#ptsd#ptsi#ptss#mentalwellness#arttherapy#watercolorpainting#illustration#disassociation#depression#artjournal#painting#prompted#theme#wellness#setup#artist#winsorandnewton#watercolour art#watercolour illustration#watercolorartist
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Dis.association Series [Piece 2] #watercolorpainting #art #amateurartist #ptsd #mentalillness #ptss #disassociation #wellness #arttherapy #anxiety #artforthesoul #winsorandnewton #watercolorartist #watercolor #painting #artdiary #artjournal #illustration
#wellness#ptsd#disassociation#winsorandnewton#painting#watercolorpainting#watercolorartist#watercolor#anxiety#arttherapy#artforthesoul#illustration#mentalillness#art#ptss#artdiary#artjournal#amateurartist
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It's amateur hour on this page and this watercolor painting is one of the first pieces I painted. As I post them you'll notice a running theme in what I'm tentatively calling my Dis.association Series. Every piece will have a different theme dealing with the issues I know best. #watercolorpainting #art #amateurartist #ptsd #mentalillness #ptss #disassociation #wellness #arttherapy #artforthesoul #winsorandnewton #watercolorartist #watercolor #painting #artdiary #artjournal
#artjournal#watercolorartist#watercolorpainting#painting#winsorandnewton#disassociation#wellness#artforthesoul#mentalillness#amateurartist#artdiary#art#ptss#watercolor#arttherapy#ptsd
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My first attempt at photoshop. Mi primer atempto al arte digital.
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#Poem#poetry#poet#depression#writer#darkness#mental health#slam poetry#slam poem#rythm#words#spilled words#mine#poets on tumblr#original#spilled thoughts#spilled poetry#truth#creative writing
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My Depression: A Public Service
Like an old friend my depression is the devil I know. An old flame the one I cling too. Always there and reliable keeping me safe from the safety of my bed. Locked behind a closed door, four walls and a rooftop where I am protected. What about the floor? The floor is my bed, just as comfortable. But even though its made of rocks, I don't get up from it.
Depression, my old friend, saves me from all meaningless interaction with the people I don't want to see and the people I do want to see. My friends are saved too because in their kindness they have offered a well-meaning listening ear, always. But they don't really want to hear from me.
I'm too real now with these scars and all. Who wants to hear about the broken girl's many cracks? Not my friends and my depression knows that. How great is that? Super great! Well more like super great. Depression isn't free. Such a kindness rarely is, it charges by the millisecond, my energy. But its worth it because I'm in my safe place right now away from the pain, the hurt, the stress, and drama. Away from the people that my depression tells me, hope to be away from me.
#Poetry#depression#thoughts#ramblings#socialanxiety#anxiety#rockbottom#work#sadness#mental health#mental illness#mental disorder#depressed#depressedthoughts#poet#writings#write#writer
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This Is My Truth.
I like being a bitch, okay. It's in my Snakey-Wolfy nature. But I'm never the bitch first. My bitchness must be activated. I'm a For Justice Bitch, kinda Bitch. Ya know? There are ways to do things. Have some decorum.
#Honesty#truth#so me#self love#motto#quote#Wolf#Snake#Slytherin#spiritanimal#authencity#true self#no apologies#sorry not sorry
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Freedom?
Today was finally the day I spoke to my therapist and said it wasn’t working out. The ol’ it’s not you its me but secretly its you. We’ll see how it goes.
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I'm an echo. A copy of a story that has been told too many times before.
ELLA THE ARTIST
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I don’t want to die a hero. I kinda just wanna hang out untill I become a villian.
ELLA THE ARTIST
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There’s no jiving with the therapist
I wouldn’t say I hate my therapist but I kind of do and now I’m avoiding her because confrontation sucks.
In our first meeting, she told me she didn’t like digging deeper into problems because she has a short attention span.
“Hi allow me to reintroduce myself because I don’t think you got it the first time. I’m Ella. I disassociate from life because of shit gets too real and I suppress things because I’m trying to pretend to be normal and “move on,” nice to meet you.”
If you don’t know what it means when those two things come together let me tell you what it means for me. It means I’m usually not connected to my emotions and when I start to feel something I can’t take, I suppress it till it’s over. All that pent-up emotion in shoved into boxes and stored away in the corner of my mind. It’s been there for years, I don’t know what’s in the boxes, but that’s what I need to work out. Because the scary thing that’s in the boxes are the answers to why I’ve been losing my mind for the past…too many years.
I hate digging deeper and talking about feelings but I know it works and it helps me move forward, so for her to say… “I don’t like doing that because I have a short attention span.” is like… “I don’t want to do the actual work of helping you it takes too long.” That was red flag numero uno.
Her suggestion is me telling her a problem and her telling me how to see it differently. I’m calling it the “turn the frown upside down” method. Like lady. If positive thinking could cure me I wouldn’t be here. I’ve been trying to “be positive” my entire life. People don’t need degrees to prescribe positive thinking. This isn’t new and inventive. I was raped, a lot, as a child. Happy thoughts aint gonna do shit.
There was a third option and it was something like, working on the problems as they come up. No digging deeper just patching things up until the next hole appears. Again, I’ve been doing that all my life. It doesn’t work and I didn’t need to get a fancy degree and a job with the county to prescribe that to myself. My instincts are on point.
This was all day one. The last time I saw her, I told her the thing I needed to work on was my procrastination. There are things I don’t do, important things until are too late. It might be to punish myself but I don’t know why. I needed help with it. I tell her I can’t stop or force myself until I’m in full panic attack mode. I’ve tried to force myself to move past it and I can’t.
Her answer to this. “Well have you tried not procrastinating.” MotherF*****R seriously! No, I hadn’t ever thought of that what a thought! Wow, you truly are the guru of the mind. There will be monuments erected in your honor celebrating your intellect. Also, go fuck yourself.
I told her that, that was the same as telling someone with depression. “Have you tried not being sad.” And then she said, “no, because that’s emotional.”
Oh. My. Bad.
I thought I was in therapy, not a doctors office.
…what the fuck am I even doing here. Wasting my time apparently. The entire time I’ve spent with her I feel like half of it was me catching her up on my life the other half watch her flounder. Still, I could see her falter a little when I called her out. But if you don’t know what something is yet, run tests. Don’t assume. Did the women learn nothing in her science class?
Really, she wanted to focus on my future. My career what I’m going to do. She doesn’t care about the real work. I don’t know what either of us are doing there.
I’m calling tomorrow and letting her know. That the thing about therapy. You have to fight for yourself in every aspect. If it doesn’t work, move on.
Rant over, for now.
TBC
- ELLA THE ARTIST
#therapist#therapy#thisisimportant#ptsd#trauma#wellness#mental health#mental disorder#what not to do#rant
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I suffered so quietly that my silence hushed my entire existence.
Ella Unapologetic
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If my old therapist ever sees this. You lied to me, she sucks.
Ella The Artist
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Here lies the body of a girl who died more than she lived.
Whose skin wore the sins and bore punishments of others.
Sacrificed for a dream the devil sold her family.
Haunted by demons and wicked the intentions of twisted men.
Her only happiness was four walls and an empty house.
A book, a pen, and a stereo to drown the world out.
She suffered so quietly that her silence hushed her entire existence
Until her internalize screams re-manifested as physical scars.
Both sparkling and broken. She dreamed of love and death.
I lay her to rest, with much gratitude for getting us both this far.
Through the pain and the fear. Die one last time, sweet child.
And rest your weary bones here.
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Death knocks at my door, he looks so amazing.
I’m in the bathroom tub bleeding, and he’s patiently waiting.
Guess it’s my time to go, but I’m not complaining.
I called him here today, so he can come take me.
Blood drips and tick tocks.
Until my heart
…stops.
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