Okay, guys, how about another page of sketches? Consider this my virtual gallery…or more appropriately, my refrigerator door that I’m letting you look at, each piece held up with a bunch of kooky mismatched magnets.
Title: Time to Die
This theme appears regularly in my creative work. It’s a combination of the political instability of the world around me and my own studies into atomic bombs and a fixation with the atomic age in general. Perhaps it was all the war movies I watched with my father throughout my childhood or my own fixation with war. My father did not prepare me for many things in life, but one thing he made sure I understood in exact detail was how to deal with Nazis. He told me when I was a little girl that if the world wasn’t very careful, such a thing would happen again. I’m glad he’s gone so he can’t see how many of his blood relatives are Nazis. Not mine, though. I denounced them. I have no time for Nazis.
Title: Memories
I drew this when I started my shadow work journey. I visualized the things I kept locked away. I imagined everything I put into the box over the years of my life, going back as early as 3 years old. Once I had everything nice and tidy, locked away, no stragglers remaining, I let my personalities tear open the boxes and destroy me.
When you spend hour after hour, day after day, sequestered inside your head, reliving all of the terrible things you’ve ever experienced, it does something to you. It breaks you. But not in a “I can’t survive this” kind of way. It breaks you in the “I’ll never be able to put the mask back on” kind of way.
Suddenly, all the lies you’ve been telling yourself over the years to keep relationships and connections alive with BAD people fall away, and you can only see the truth. You can’t pretend anymore. You can’t even answer the phone because you know something terrible is going to come out of your mouth. You’ll regret it because it will be mean, but it will also be honest. And the other person won’t see the truth of it. They will only see your attack on them.
Title: Who’s to Blame?
If you’ve never wanted to or tried to kill yourself, you might not understand this one. It’s unfinished, and that is also intentional.
The first time, everyone acts concerned for you and afraid of you. They walk on eggshells around you. They check your meds, lock up the knives, and never leave your side. The second time, they tell you that “everyone relapses,” as though the thing trying to kill you isn’t your own brain. “You just need more therapy, more meds.” When you come home from the hospital, they are still walking on eggshells, but they are much less careful. When you can still hear them, but they can’t see you, they talk about what a pain it is to babysit you. If only you could grow up, they say. This is such a cry for attention.
By the third time, you’re expected to pick up life as though nothing happened within a few hours of getting home. Nothing changes. The situation doesn’t improve.
Title: Graveyard Road
Just a little dystopian sketching. No story behind it, other than a random thought about what graveyards would have looked like in literature such as “Hunger Games” or “The Road”.
Title: Little Demon
Just a fun little sketch of one of my inner demons.
Title: Untitled
Just another fun little sketch. Pattern Power!
Title: Grief
This one is pretty self-explanatory.
Title: Coven
Just another little sketch.
Title: Don’t Speak
Title: A View Into My Past
An artistic rendering of my pre-teen bedroom.
Title: Tornado
I’ve always had a fixation with tornadoes. Something about the spiraling vortex of absolute destruction has resonated with my soul since I was old enough to feel pulled toward things.
Title: The Monster Is Me
Just a little word play, creative sketching, and trauma work.
Title: Love Hurts
I’ve heard the phrase, “Love hurts and then you die,” so many times in my life. Why is this the truth? Is true love hopeless? I am an optimist, so I’ll continue trying, even if it hurts. Even if nobody will ever love me the same way that I love them.
I often think that with my mental illnesses, perhaps I will always be difficult to love. Perhaps it is reckless of me to even engage in the idea of being in a relationship. I won’t quit trying, but my level of effort decreases with each attempt. One day, I will put in so little effort that I won’t even notice it never happened. Or it did. Who knows. Maybe my perfect partner will show up in person one day. I won’t hold my breath.
Until Next Time,
Cathy Marie Bown
Cathy Marie Bown 