Wounds
by:
Carrie
Oil pastels and paints on watercolor paper.
This is not the first Pinky blog that I have had, but I killed the other one because it started affecting my work. Well, not the blog, per se, but the people that felt they knew me all too well because of what I wrote and they tried to take advantage of that. I, like most people, don't care to be taken advantage of so it was easier to stop my blog than continue to deal with manipulative people.
I have never, in my old blog or this one, posted my real name. In fact, if you haven't bought jewelry from me, you wouldn't know it at all. And those of you who do know it, respected me enough as a friend and a person to keep on with my pen name. That means a lot. After this post, I doubt I'll put my name to another piece, and if I do, I imagine it will be years. I am not ashamed of my name or who I am, but Pinky gives me a security blanket that sometimes Carrie doesn't have.
When I was a little girl, my brother called my baby Firestar. He still does. He said that because of my wild, red hair and my just as wild spirit, I just reminded him of her. I was cool enough to be immortalized in my brother's brain as a super hero. Can't get much better than that. When we were a little older, we used to make cassette tapes of car commercials because we thought we were funny. I came up with the name of Pinky Karmenghia and it stuck, 20 years later it's still there. Because both names were tacked by events that involved my big brother, it gave me security when I felt I had none.
I have had some hard decisions to make this past summer. Decisions that dealt with my family and the affect it has on me. Most days, I do real well, yesterday I didn't. A lot of old hurt and damage was brought to the surface again and it knocked me flat on my ass. It still amazes me that wounds can so easily be opened while new ones are being carved. That's why I did this painting. It hurt and I wanted to cry the whole time I was doing it, but I would not shed one tear. Not one.
I have been abused, taken advantage of, manipulated, cursed, dammed and blamed. Some for things I may have done, most for things I haven't. All I want is a safe place for my daughter to live and grow in and in the process of that I had to hurt someone close to me. I had to hurt my mom. I know she doesn't see it this way, but our choice, as my little family, to keep her away from our daughter was not to be mean or cruel to her. It was to keep that meanness and cruelty away from our daughter. The decision to tell her NO was the hardest thing I believe I have ever done.
I love my daughter with a fierceness that borders on crazy. I would go to any length to keep her safe from the monsters that live in people. I did what I had to do and I will continue to do that until my mom sees that I'm not doing it to spite her, curse her or just be awful to her. She needs help and I can't fix it for her. She has to do it on her own. But, unless something changes, she won't do it and I will continue to be the "bitch that took my one and only granddaughter away".
I'm not going to pretend that this is easy or fun. It's hard and it makes a nasty knot in my stomach. But it's the truth. In a single moment, my mom can reopen those old wounds and slash new ones with fervor, even if she doesn't know she's doing it. But sometimes, I think she does. I am old enough to say "Stop it, that hurts" but often that statement is not enough and I end up getting hurt anyway. That's my own damn fault. I should be able to stand against the abuse and shout "NO!!!", instead I sit there and take it.
So, I cut her out. For my health as much for my daughter's. The wounds are still there, and as of yesterday, there are a few new ones. But I couldn't slip into Pinky when I, Carrie, needed to feel the pain and hurt and let it go. Expose myself to millions of unknowns and maybe start to heal.
My name is Carrie. I am an abuse survivor. I am a loving mother and a caring wife. I cry hot tears when the pain and memories are too much. I am strong enough to say no. I am worthy of untainted love. I am a spectacular woman.
And I am still afraid of my mommy.
