The Art Festival that Wasn’t

A few days ago I wrote about Healing Through Creativity, an art festival that I had been looking forward to for quite some time. So me and my boyfriend made what ended up being a seven hour trip from our home in Vandling, Pennsylvania to our hotel room in Uniontown, Pennsylvania and then the hour trip from our hotel and into West Virginia for the art festival.

The trip from our house to the hotel was fine and the trip from the hotel to West Virginia University was fine, but once we got there, all went to hell, to say the least. Who knew that West Virginia University had not one, but two campuses? Not only that, but who knew that West Virginia University was approximately 200 miles long? I surely did not. Okay, now I may be exaggerating the 200 miles long thing because in all honesty, I wouldn’t know how many miles West Virginia University encompasses because I was too busy fearing for my life as we drove around the university looking for the building in which the festival was being held. Fearing for my life? Why yes, because who knew that this university was located on a hill where it is virtually impossible to see where you are going because of the cars driving in the opposite direction as you on several hundreds of dips and twists in the road. For all of you people thinking of even driving near West Virginia at night–Don’t, because the people of West Virginia do not know how to drive and apparently they think nothing of driving you off the road while trying to get wherever it is they are going with absolutely no respect towards you, the miscreant who decided to get in their way by driving on the same road as them.

So to sum up the art festival, I have to say that it was the art festival that wasn’t; at least for me. We ended up driving around the university for an hour and a half, missing the showing of the film I went there to see in the first place, and at that point I was so frazzled, terrified and anxiety-ridden, I thought that it was ironic, to say the least, that I was going to an art festival all about healing while one of my main anxiety issues is getting lost driving at night on a busy road that I am not familiar with. While some may find it odd that while I do not drive and have never even had a driver’s license I can get to the point of having a panic attack while someone else is driving, I guess you would really have to know me. I’m a control freak and always have been, which is a common personal trait in survivors; so while I have had panic attacks behind the wheel of a car while learning to drive, making driving virtually impossible for me (at least for now) my mind still believes that I need to possess control over the driving situations; so if someone who is driving the car I am riding as the passenger in, my mind tells me that I am lost, on my own, in the dark in an unfamiliar place and I need to make sure that I can get back to where I am comfortable again. When someone is driving and gets lost, I immediately think “Oh no, I’m going to be stranded here forever. Do something!” And what do I do? Why badger the person driving about our whereabouts, approximately how many miles it will take until they know where we are again and approximately how long it will take to drive that many miles. I usually repeat this around 48 times.

So in the midst of being on the verge of a panic attack and wanting to choke the students of West Virginia University for not knowing directions around the campus they spend most of their time at or what building the art festival was being held at, after an hour and a half of driving I was spent. I wanted to get back to the hotel so I one, knew where I was again and two, could sleep the rest of the weekend because there was no way I was making the trip back to the largest university known to man where the students didn’t even know where they were; and so we went back to the hotel and my trip to the art festival to bask in the glory of my art turned into a two day vacation I apparently needed.

Me and the boyfriend spent the next day and night eating at Eat n’ Park, a Denny’s-like restaurant I had never heard of before and Sonic, a drive through food place that we get commercials for here, but are lacking the actual restaurant. We also drove around looking for something to do and low and behold, we found out that there is absolutely nothing to do in Uniontown, Pennsylvania. After seeing a commercial for a Dave and Buster’s arcade, which is being marketed as an arcade for adults equipped with a bar. A bar and an arcade is one fabulous combination–Get drunk, play games, how can you go wrong? Well, apparently you can, since after driving an hour there we found out that it is merely a place for adults to sit and get drunk while their kids play arcade games approximately ten to fifteen years old; not fun.

While this weekend was supposed to be a weekend all about healing, I did do something very new and very great for myself this weekend, despite going to the art festival. For the first time in eight years, I went swimming; not only that, I went swimming in a pool that was also being occupied by other people. I forgot how much I love swimming; I really, really love swimming and now have the urge to get a membership at the local YMCA so I can go swimming as much as I want to. So while I didn’t make it to the art festival, I did do something that has had a great healing effect on me and loved every second of it.

Healing Through Creativity: The Night Before

My next few blogs will be about an art festival that I have been looking forward to for a little over a month now–Healing Through Creativity.

Healing Through Creativity is an art festival for survivors of abuse and trauma and supporters of survivors. I have known about this festival for a few years, but never thought of going–That is, until a short film that I wrote a segment of was showing there and since this is the furthest a piece of my writing has gone, other than a book put together by my high school creative writing class and a few high school poetry contests and readings that I won, me and my boyfriend are traveling about six hours to West Virginia to see my writing and the film it was put in shown to I don’t even know how many people.

Excitement is just one feeling coursing itself through my being right now, we also have anxiety and of course, fear. What are the next three days going to be like? Who am I going to meet? What do I say to anyone who starts talking to me? What do I do with my hands when I’m talking to people? Yes, sadly, these are the questions I ask myself and more often than not, “What do I do with my hands?” is a very prominent question. I guess that’s why I’ve always been a writer; a behind the scenes type of person because I can never decide what to say or what my hands and arms should be doing when I’m saying it.

I’m supposed to read some of my poetry while there for an open mic and also for the filmmaker who made the film with my poetry. He is asking for one hour of reading to put the footage in another short film so while my poetry was in the first film, I will actually be in the next. I think that has a lot to do with the fear I feel. I used to do poetry readings once a week for a few years but I stopped going and soon became a recluse. I am not used to being around a lot of people or having to actually read my writing to a group of people and even when I did it years ago, I could feel and slightly hear my voice shaking, which is something I had meant to work on but instead opted to just stop doing it.

Frankly, the bottom line is that I want to go to this art festival and I want to have a great time. I want to read my writing and hopefully meet some fabulous people and take fabulous pictures and what my anxiety and fear comes down to is that I have a hard time giving myself what I want. I moved out of my father’s house when I was 17 years old and I have worked since that moment forward to give myself my own life and what ends up happening with me is that I work and work and work and very infrequently do I indulge myself with something or with doing something that I want. So here is a lesson for all of you people out there with goals and dreams that you have been working so hard towards–Working is great, but sometimes you need a little breather time and you need to give yourself something that you want and in this case, I am going to the Healing Through Creativity art festival, fear and all, and I am going to read my writing, fear and all and who cares if my voice shakes or if I feel like I am going to throw up? I want to do it and so I am going to. Wish me luck.

Hounddog

I just finished watching the movie Hounddog; I received it over a week ago but because I’ve been working a lot lately, it took me a little while to get the time (and emotional energy) to sit down and watch it. On that note, waiting over a week to watch it was a big mistake because this movie is phenomenal.

Hounddog is about healing–From having to grow up way too early, from sexual assault and from betrayal; it shows life in its sometimes unpleasant and ugly, but also inspiring glory. Dakota Fanning plays a young girl in the American south who lives in a world where so much is expected from her and so much tries to destroy her; from a family who feels as if she is to grow up and even as a young child, expects her to be a woman of the house, to a rape. Hounddog shows you the aftermath of sexual assault, how one can become so sick because of it, but it also shows you hope and a girl who is determined to save herself with the help of a friend.

Hounddog has had a very bumpy road thus far, from Sundance where it was criticized and deemed the ‘Dakota Fanning Rape Movie’ to online reviews that I read after watching it that tear it apart. As a survivor, I loved Hounddog and the only criticism I do have is that I wish it were longer and had a more solidified ending. I loved the hope that it gives to people watching it and most of all, a particular monologue in the movie was so powerful that one moment I was laying on my couch, taking the movie in and the next was sobbing because the words that were spoken were so dead on and were so profound that it really made the entire movie. Those words were exactly what I and what so many other survivors needed to hear and it is because of everything that is said in that one, short monologue that really sums up why no survivor can let their abuser destroy or take their spirit from them.

Every survivor of sexual assault should see this movie. It will stay with you and it will give you that gentle push that so many of us often need to speak up and break the silence surrounding sexual assault. Hounddog is a movie that exudes hope and infuses survivors with a resonating voice that says ‘I understand, it isn’t your fault, now take back what is yours.’

Sinful Touches, My First Creative Writing Piece

I was going through my creative writing earlier trying to pick out pieces to read at the upcoming Healing Through Creativity art festival and found the first piece of writing that I ever wrote.

This piece used to be straight, line-break poetry but has since been cleaned up a little bit grammar-wise and turned into a prose piece simply because my prose tends to read a lot easier than my poetry because I tend to be a little too liberal when it comes to line breaks. It is entitled Sinful Touches and was written seven years ago–A year before I told anyone about any of my abuse.

I think that this served as a part of my breaking point up to breaking the silence around my abuse. I was remembering a lot of what I had suppressed and putting what I remembered vividly on paper before I actually spoke the words out loud. This piece of writing is what started it all; I can still remember sitting in class in 8th grade English class during a specific time the teacher had set aside for “journaling.”

I am glad that I grew up in a small town where I could run into that teacher a few times at places like the mall and thank her for giving me the chance to recognize writing and its healing effects.

Sinful Touches
2001

I’ve fallen. I’m crawling.

Crawling naked on this floor mostly of dirt. The “lived in” essence taken over by filth and the laziness of a woman who never could take care of herself. My clothes, along with any dignity I once possessed at the age I didn’t know what dignity was is strewn carelessly on the floor beside where my body lays lifeless.

Are you happy now? This is the power you longed for; with a slobbering tongue of a St. Bernard–Everything you touch becoming sticky, used, in need of a shower. Are you proud of yourself? Did you have your fill and feel stuffed of power that may burst from your seams if you exhaled too strongly?

I’m sorry I began to fade; go off to the distant world where you weren’t touching me and I didn’t have to cry myself to sleep wondering if this is what love is and if so, why it hurt so much. But I remained the good girl–Don’t say a word–and I never have. But my knees are bloodied from being pulled, my arms are sore and my feet are as black as coal. I wish I could have been running outside, barefoot, to have an explanation for my appearance but instead I remained a good girl and did not speak up for your actions or for my submission.

I am no longer ready for your blows; for your sinful touches that I cannot explain. I need to disappear, off to the distant world where you do not exist and I do not wake up in the morning confused and dirty. Off to the world where there are butterflies and green grass and daisies that are just right for picking. I think of flowers and of nature when you are pouring yourself on me and I simply cannot be there when your eyes are wide and staring down into mine. I cannot be there to speak up for your actions and I cannot be there when you leave.

Finding Angela Shelton is Changing Lives

I recently read Finding Angela Shelton: The True Story of One Woman’s Triumph Over Sexual Abuse. Not only has this book helped me immensely in my healing process, but it was also a factor in the motivation to not only start this website, but it played a major role in the name of this website. The last sentence written in the book is Thank you for healing–by healing yourself, you heal the world. That is so true and so, while I go about my own healing journey here, I invite all survivors, everywhere, to do the same with me. Every survivor deserves and owes it to themselves to heal–What happened to you is not your fault and as you carry the burden of abuse with you, you are giving your abuser the power and it is imperative to not give your abuser what they sought from you by their abuse.

“Bad things may have happened to you, but it’s your decision how the rest of the story goes.”
    - Angela’s brother, Steve

Finding Angela Shelton gives those of us who have heard and have been following Angela Shelton’s own journey after the release of Searching for Angela Shelton a deeper look into what went in to making the documentary; overall as well as within Angela Shelton. In addition to getting to know what she was thinking and feeling through the making of her film, she also adds a great deal about her childhood into the book that we didn’t hear about in the movie and a more detailed description about the experience of going to see her father after many years who was also her abuser. Angela Shelton also put passages from her dream journal into the book which are written in her own writing. The dream sections were my favorite part of the book because it really proves that your subconscious feels and knows things are coming before you do; most people write off their dreams and nightmares as flukes but a lot of dreams and even nightmares can give you a deeper look and a more honest understanding of what you are really feeling.

Finding Angela Shelton is now required reading for a great deal of different education programs which I think it great. By more and more people reading this book, they will get a better sense of what abuse is, how to heal, and even what to expect when confronting an abuser.

By just starting a conversation we can create dramatic social change so in the back of this book, Angela Shelton has come up with some talking points and thoughts to ponder while discussion the book in a class, group, club, or meeting. Thoughts are after the jump.

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