And then, a thwack.
She needed to listen to me
I found a princess castle in the trash heap of my new neighborhood. I took it. Heaving the massive, heavy structure into my car, I hoped no one saw me.
In my studio I encased the façade in papier-mâché. Once dried, I added a layer of papier-mâché paste to create a rough, stony texture. I peeled it from the plastic structure, now a mask. I added eyes and a mouth, then painted it with watered-down pastels, giving the creature purple shadowed eyes. Using my fingerprints, I tiled the roof in blue.
With my hands covered in the slime of flour and water and then multi-colored paint, I thought of my intuition. My body and its knowledge were actively ignored. In a deep cavern, hollowed out at the center of me, somewhere under my lungs, above my bladder, my intuition hummed. She quivered. Over and over again, I silenced her. Told her that she misunderstood. He was trying and getting better and I needed to help him and I was the only one who could and she needed to listen to me.
And then, a thwack!
A startling Event at The House made her pulse. My heart rose and thudded in my chest, then my throat. I thought it would bounce out of me and splatter on the floor. To avoid this, I began to move. My intuition took control of my brain and maneuvered me. Her limit had been reached and exceeded. She moved me. She made my decisions. I could not stop her. She wasn’t always a princess castle. I made her one through violent force. I filled her with deeply rooted delusions, and she spewed them out.
She let me rest after I told everything to my counselor.
I was told I had to move. I couldn’t stay in my home. I asked for extensions on assignments as I moved to emergency housing with my pets, Lady and Gizmo.
The first house, which the program coordinators jokingly called the Taj Mahal, was a contemporary townhome on the edge of a small lake. The interior was immaculate with a large flat screen, incredible kitchen appliances, and walls of windows for lake viewing.
I felt overwhelmed and alone being there.
The first night one of the coordinators asked me what I wanted for dinner. I asked for a pizza with garlic butter sauce. They brought the pizza and five or more packs of sauce. I ate robotically. I had a few haphazardly packed bags, a computer I borrowed from the school, and Gizmo and Lady.
The stone floor made my feet cold. I called my family and a few close friends to let them know where I was and what was going on. I turned off all location services on my phone.
I cried so hard that the skin under my eyes turned bright red. The repeated crossing tears created an upside-down triangle shape on my skin. I thought I looked like a clown.
I had to leave the Taj Mahal abruptly. Neighbors complained about me. That I took up three parking spaces. I didn’t even have a car. Then it was my cat. Cats weren’t allowed. Again, the program coordinators picked me up. They took me to a hotel. The other safe house was right down the street from the rental home I shared with my ex. I stayed in the hotel for a few days until I could get to my mom’s house.
I remember watching hours of television.
Doing the bare minimum to finish the semester.
And wondering why it was so hard to laugh.
On the left:
April 26 // a required school headshot I never used taken at the hotel
On the right:
April 22 // Documentation of the inflamed, triangle tear patterns taken at the townhouse
