Today I am blogging to blog. I am frustrated, and I need to vent. It's quite coincidental (or just synchronistic) that I named this blog Venturous Joy. Not only am I an adventurous spirit and currently venturing internally and externally for my own soul searching, I am literally venting, too. So, this blog is aptly named.
I'm pissed. With my father. My car's brakes need to be fixed and my insurance got cancelled, so it is currently off the road. Therefore, I am stranded on a fucking mountain and I can't really get anywhere, and ultimately my dad can't go and get his booze. So he is losing his shit, and being really mean. At this point, after all this time living here and trying to figure out ways to get him off the bottle, I'd rather just give him a drink. Because then he'd be nicer. And that royally sucks.
To stay productive (which has been the good thing out of being immobile), we started to do some landscaping around the house-- like split and stack wood, clearing up all the shit that's been hanging around the backyard. Both my brothers tend to just dump their shit here, like it's a dump yard. I think it's really disrespectful that they do that. What is it about disrespecting and being mean to the ones we love the most? Why do we do it?
Despite my brothers' mess, it's been keeping my dad busy and, in my opinion, keeping his mind off of the alcohol. He stopped working for a few months now, ever since his working partner passed away. But he's now 63, so is probably in retirement mode anyway-- except that he has no retirement fund. Regardless, clearing up the backyard has been a helpful summer project.
The thing is I just can't be around him anymore. He's always criticizing everything I do, and I won't have it. I just can't imagine all the people who stay in relationships when their partner is verbally or emotionally abusive, let alone physically and sexually abusive. My father never abused me, except for neglect, which is a real form of abuse, and I'm sad to say that I'm grateful that it wasn't other kinds. But it doesn't mean that emotional or psychological abuse is okay. No abuse is okay. I've witnessed and endured my share in my lifetime, and I see right through the bullshit and won't allow it into my life anymore.
So, I'm obviously blogging for the reasons why I always blog, because it is therapeutic. Growing up, I always saw my mother writing, always. So I believe I take after her in that respect. I am grateful, and glad I followed in her example instead of my father's, which would have been to turn to drugs and alcohol. I am so grateful that I didn't take that route.
I know that he is being mean because he is going through a withdrawal of alcohol and cigarettes. But I also will not stand in the way to be teared down in the process. It's like I don't even care about helping him anymore. I really don't. So, I've been keeping my distance, not speaking a word to him, and if I do and he starts to become verbally abusive, I will throw those darts right back, because I can fight. But I'd rather just keep the peace and avoid him.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Hospital Hill
During the winters throughout my childhood, I remember going to "Hospital Hill," to go sledding. It was a great big hill, perfect for sledding. It was called "hospital hill" because the hill used to be part of a psychiatric hospital. The story is, that hospital eventually closed down, leaving all its patients to care for themselves, eventually ending up homeless on the streets of Northampton. I also heard terrible stories about how they tortured their patients at that place, as well as ghost stories of school busses being pulled up the that hill by the spirits left behind. Today, there is still a large portion of homeless people in Northampton, and I just wonder if there is a connection to the many psychiatric patients who were abandoned and left behind at that hospital so many years ago.
Today, as I find myself embarking into the field of mental health, I notice all these memories come back to me which relate. I believe that the mental health and psychiatric practices have vastly changed since, say 50 years ago, and I trust that the field is going in a more ethical and healing direction towards wellbeing-- while ceasing to ostracize those who struggle with mental illness. Because after all we are all human, and should all be treated as equals.
Today, as I find myself embarking into the field of mental health, I notice all these memories come back to me which relate. I believe that the mental health and psychiatric practices have vastly changed since, say 50 years ago, and I trust that the field is going in a more ethical and healing direction towards wellbeing-- while ceasing to ostracize those who struggle with mental illness. Because after all we are all human, and should all be treated as equals.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Strawberry Moon
So, they say that tonight, June 20th, will be a "Strawberry Moon"; which supposedly got its name from Algonquin tribes, meaning the full moon comes in sync with the summer solstice, and the fruits are ready for picking.
I also know when the full moon is here because I begin to develope insomnia. It happens almost every full moon lately. But I just roll with it. Like the tides of the ocean.
I like to hear about Algonquin traditions, because I have Algonquin ancestors. My mother told me she remembers her grandparents telling her Algonquin stories. I told her that I'd like to hear those stories someday, if she can remember them.
So, Happy Summer Solstice, Full Moon, Strawberry Moon. Don't forget to howl tonight.
p.s. not sure why the date and time is displaying Sunday, June 19th at 10:27pm. It is in fact Monday, June 20th at 1:28am.
I also know when the full moon is here because I begin to develope insomnia. It happens almost every full moon lately. But I just roll with it. Like the tides of the ocean.
I like to hear about Algonquin traditions, because I have Algonquin ancestors. My mother told me she remembers her grandparents telling her Algonquin stories. I told her that I'd like to hear those stories someday, if she can remember them.
So, Happy Summer Solstice, Full Moon, Strawberry Moon. Don't forget to howl tonight.
p.s. not sure why the date and time is displaying Sunday, June 19th at 10:27pm. It is in fact Monday, June 20th at 1:28am.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Full Disclosure: Childhood Trauma & Sexual Abuse
To give a back-story of my reasoning for this disclosure, I am going through two specific kinds of ventures in life right now: 1.) I am researching higher education degree programs to attend to for a career path (essentially, my future), and 2.) I am venturing through the struggles of living with my father and oldest brother (essentially bringing up my past). Now, I am inevitably putting the two (my future and my past) together, and what has been the result? Psychology and Mental Health. There you have it.
So, while being in this cross-sectional state of research, I looked up the definition of sexual abuse, and I was led to this website through the American Psychological Association. It was entitled "Open Up! Writing About Trauma Reduces Stress, Aids Immunity." The article was basically saying that the more you disclose about your traumas, the more you heal from the traumatic symptoms-- like depression, anxiety and PTSD. This article was written in 2003, and since then, to my knowledge, this method of disclosure has been discredited by some psychologists, but only in terms as an effective talk therapy for healing. However, as a form of personal disclosure, such as journaling/blogging, this discredit does not apply.
Therefore, I am going to test this theory. So, here we go. Full disclosure: Because my goal is to heal.
When I was six years old, I was molested by my twelve year old brother. All I remember was that he wanted to to try something new that he had learned (he was hitting puberty after all), and decided to use me to try and experiment with it. This was going to be my first experience with any kind of sexual encounter-- at the age of six. The thing is, I didn't even know what sex was at the time, and was too young to understand whether it was something I wanted to participate in or not.
About a year later when I was about 7 years old, my three siblings, cousin, and I were all at my Nana's house. I remember we were all upstairs in one of the bedrooms, when the same brother suggested we all play, "Truth or Dare." At some point in this game, he then dared my cousin, who was about 13 at the time, to "have sex" with me. I remember my brother literally picking me up to try and put me on top of my cousin, as if I were a play doll, all while my other two siblings watched. But by this time, I knew that I didn't like what he was trying to do, and I left the room. That night I went crying to my mother, and I told her what had happened. She was upset and called my aunt to inform her as well, and then continued to comfort me. The thing is, I don't think I disclosed everything, including the fact that it was my brother who was behind the whole "dare," and that he had tried it on me a year earlier. Therefore, no repercussions were made towards my brother at that time. All I knew was that what had happened wasn't right, because I felt violated. And what was important was that this time I had the courage to speak up and tell someone.
A year later, I was about 8 years old, and my brother would have this one friend over often, they were now 14 years old. You could say that I had developed a little crush on this friend of my brothers. One time he came over and somehow we ended upstairs alone together. My father and my other brother were outside in the garage, and I don't remember my oldest brother even being home at the time, which was strange because it was his friend who was over. He then led me to the downstairs bathroom to get into the bathtub, and then it became all too familiar of what was about to happen, again. But I knew better this time, and it was something that I knew I didn't like. It was then that I learned to say NO! right in that moment. He tried to convince me to stay, but I got out of that tub and got myself out of the situation. I had finally learned to say no, on my own, at eight years old.
About two years later, I was 10 years old. I was watching TV with the same old brother, he was now 16 years old. I was sitting on the floor close to the TV, and he was sitting behind me on the couch. He then asked me, "hey, do you wanna get it on?," while snickering. I told him that it wasn't funny because we both knew about what he had put me through previously. He laughed and said it was just a joke, but then asked again anyway. Furious, I ran upstairs, wrote my mother a note of exactly what had happened, and then ran down the street to these gravel banks where I would sometimes play. I waited until dusk to walk back home. By the time I got back, my mother had kicked my brother out of the house, and he went to live with my Nana. The molestations were over.
It wasn't until much later into my adulthood that I would tell all my immediate family members about everything that had happened to me. It was in fact freeing for me. I had disclosed to all but one person: confrontation with my brother. This sexual abuse had impacted me greatly, and I knew I was going to have to confront him at some point in my life, I just didn't know when. But when he came back to live with my father and I, the inevitable was likely to happen. So, of course, now that all the trauma has been resurfacing ten-fold within these past few weeks, confrontations have been made.
So, while being in this cross-sectional state of research, I looked up the definition of sexual abuse, and I was led to this website through the American Psychological Association. It was entitled "Open Up! Writing About Trauma Reduces Stress, Aids Immunity." The article was basically saying that the more you disclose about your traumas, the more you heal from the traumatic symptoms-- like depression, anxiety and PTSD. This article was written in 2003, and since then, to my knowledge, this method of disclosure has been discredited by some psychologists, but only in terms as an effective talk therapy for healing. However, as a form of personal disclosure, such as journaling/blogging, this discredit does not apply.
Therefore, I am going to test this theory. So, here we go. Full disclosure: Because my goal is to heal.
About a year later when I was about 7 years old, my three siblings, cousin, and I were all at my Nana's house. I remember we were all upstairs in one of the bedrooms, when the same brother suggested we all play, "Truth or Dare." At some point in this game, he then dared my cousin, who was about 13 at the time, to "have sex" with me. I remember my brother literally picking me up to try and put me on top of my cousin, as if I were a play doll, all while my other two siblings watched. But by this time, I knew that I didn't like what he was trying to do, and I left the room. That night I went crying to my mother, and I told her what had happened. She was upset and called my aunt to inform her as well, and then continued to comfort me. The thing is, I don't think I disclosed everything, including the fact that it was my brother who was behind the whole "dare," and that he had tried it on me a year earlier. Therefore, no repercussions were made towards my brother at that time. All I knew was that what had happened wasn't right, because I felt violated. And what was important was that this time I had the courage to speak up and tell someone.
A year later, I was about 8 years old, and my brother would have this one friend over often, they were now 14 years old. You could say that I had developed a little crush on this friend of my brothers. One time he came over and somehow we ended upstairs alone together. My father and my other brother were outside in the garage, and I don't remember my oldest brother even being home at the time, which was strange because it was his friend who was over. He then led me to the downstairs bathroom to get into the bathtub, and then it became all too familiar of what was about to happen, again. But I knew better this time, and it was something that I knew I didn't like. It was then that I learned to say NO! right in that moment. He tried to convince me to stay, but I got out of that tub and got myself out of the situation. I had finally learned to say no, on my own, at eight years old.
About two years later, I was 10 years old. I was watching TV with the same old brother, he was now 16 years old. I was sitting on the floor close to the TV, and he was sitting behind me on the couch. He then asked me, "hey, do you wanna get it on?," while snickering. I told him that it wasn't funny because we both knew about what he had put me through previously. He laughed and said it was just a joke, but then asked again anyway. Furious, I ran upstairs, wrote my mother a note of exactly what had happened, and then ran down the street to these gravel banks where I would sometimes play. I waited until dusk to walk back home. By the time I got back, my mother had kicked my brother out of the house, and he went to live with my Nana. The molestations were over.
It wasn't until much later into my adulthood that I would tell all my immediate family members about everything that had happened to me. It was in fact freeing for me. I had disclosed to all but one person: confrontation with my brother. This sexual abuse had impacted me greatly, and I knew I was going to have to confront him at some point in my life, I just didn't know when. But when he came back to live with my father and I, the inevitable was likely to happen. So, of course, now that all the trauma has been resurfacing ten-fold within these past few weeks, confrontations have been made.
Well, that's where I'm at with the whole process. We'll see if my symptoms of depression, anxiety and PTSD start to subside now.
UPDATE: To begin, my deliveries in confrontation at first had unfortunately been out of anger, and therefore my brother would deny any of my traumatic experiences ever happening. But to give an update, eventually, we successfully had a confrontation, a conversation, and genuine apologies were made. I feel so grateful to have worked out this trauma with my brother, it doesn't feel like trauma anymore. Let this be an example of the power of healing through personal disclosure, confrontation, constructive communication, and reconciliation.
Here is the website to the article:
http://www.apa.org/research/action/writing.aspx
Here is the website to the article:
http://www.apa.org/research/action/writing.aspx
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Disowned
I had a dream the other night that my mother stopped believing in me, and disowned me. Then told me to go be a stripper.
Well, that's just life I guess.
Well, that's just life I guess.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Ferns and Thorns: The Values of Art and Creativity
As I sit outside, on my little hand-made patio/walkway between two stone walls, I observe my surroundings. There are two types of plants growing out from the walls-- a thorned type of plant, and ferns. One, a plant has a defense mechanism with its thorned protection, and the other, just green and free. These two plants, I think, are representative of my father. But I will leave that metaphorical correlation to the imagination for another time.
However, I will use this fern and thorn plant symbolism to my creative advantage as well-- because, that is just what happens with a creative mind. I write this blog simply for my own wellness. And for that, I share this publicly, for maybe you will gain an insight on the power writing-- as a self-expression and self-working tool. "Believe in the power of art and creativity," is what my mother used to say to me, and taught me to believe in too. I always have to this day, and I always will.
We only tend to value a selected few artists, many willing to spend hundreds, thousands, on ones art. Why is that? What sets these artists apart from the millions of other artists around the world? If you want to know my honest answer, it's conceit and effective marketing. That's it. It's a source of insurmountable self-belief and drive to expose your art to the world, trying to convince people that your art is different, more valuable than the rest. Not that anything is wrong with conceit, it's just about how much one has of it.
Therefore, in this culture, if your conceit is high, your value is high. If your value is high, the more likely you are to receive monetary compensation for your art. Because, after all, money is our society's ultimate value symbol. So, to tie this in with the symbolism, the paid artists of world are like the thorned plants, they are not free, they are just protected. But then you have the artists who make art, because they must. It's a means of survival, to keep their mind and heart clean. It is a purging. So, why have conceit over the purge? It doesn't matter, because the art is just the digestion of ones internal work. The art, after all, does not matter, so what use will it be to someone else? That's why these artists don't put a price on their beautiful piece of digestion. Somehow, to me, these kinds of artists equate to the ferns. And somehow, they hold a more meaningful type of value for human wellbeing.
For these fern artists, the art ends up holding value not so much in the product, but the in the process of healing the artist receives from it. And this value is priceless.
However, I will use this fern and thorn plant symbolism to my creative advantage as well-- because, that is just what happens with a creative mind. I write this blog simply for my own wellness. And for that, I share this publicly, for maybe you will gain an insight on the power writing-- as a self-expression and self-working tool. "Believe in the power of art and creativity," is what my mother used to say to me, and taught me to believe in too. I always have to this day, and I always will.
We only tend to value a selected few artists, many willing to spend hundreds, thousands, on ones art. Why is that? What sets these artists apart from the millions of other artists around the world? If you want to know my honest answer, it's conceit and effective marketing. That's it. It's a source of insurmountable self-belief and drive to expose your art to the world, trying to convince people that your art is different, more valuable than the rest. Not that anything is wrong with conceit, it's just about how much one has of it.
Therefore, in this culture, if your conceit is high, your value is high. If your value is high, the more likely you are to receive monetary compensation for your art. Because, after all, money is our society's ultimate value symbol. So, to tie this in with the symbolism, the paid artists of world are like the thorned plants, they are not free, they are just protected. But then you have the artists who make art, because they must. It's a means of survival, to keep their mind and heart clean. It is a purging. So, why have conceit over the purge? It doesn't matter, because the art is just the digestion of ones internal work. The art, after all, does not matter, so what use will it be to someone else? That's why these artists don't put a price on their beautiful piece of digestion. Somehow, to me, these kinds of artists equate to the ferns. And somehow, they hold a more meaningful type of value for human wellbeing.
For these fern artists, the art ends up holding value not so much in the product, but the in the process of healing the artist receives from it. And this value is priceless.