Door

By Deborah

 

I’m noticing I want to get out, go home and be comfortable doing what I m used to.

Name story.
Terror ... TERROR
I see all the black and the arrows and you’re double sided.
It’s a black door closed on both sides, a heavy black door knob.
Some spots of yellow.
“Okay to resource other peoples work” they said.
I wanted to make it both sided and a red plastic lai for wearing around my neck or for hanging the doll for somewhere or something.
Can’t wait till I can leave here, why did I do this, why sign up for this. Easier to stay home on a Saturday morning.
Martha having radiation, moving from her house
Lawrence ill dealing with bone marrow transplant for heavens sake and Christine dealing with her beloved’s illness
No wonder I dissociate, want to separate. No wonder this is a black hole closed door.
Didn’t color the flip side of the big black poking hole, its white, maybe that is the box no 7 on the faith worksheet
Do I dissociate? Is my writing a way to stay separate from me from it?
The doll scares me I don’t know what to do with it.
My doll has arms legs of pain and anger.
Energy and world view
Wants to be heard wants to be expressed
Feels powerless chaotic
Wants to just express and not do anything. That’s a scary thought
I’d have to wear old clothes if I wanted to wear this around my neck to process with.
The doll is headless. Just a dark closed door

 

  

Lightness of being the feathers

The little scrunchy play of orange on the back and front
There is hope lightness power change
Awareness is curative, Lloyd says
Is it just my mental?
Do I need to explain?