Containment Issues(Sold! Copies available)
I did this in "Seeing Beyond Bulimia and Binge Eating." Our prompt was to depict what it felt like to be in a binge. Mine ended up being more about what it felt like to be in a purge, though. I drew a sort of Jonah and the Whale of a girl being swept out of the inside of a whale, following the putrid swirls of the contents of its stomach. She is scrambling to grab onto something and not be expelled, but it's no use because of the sheer volume in there and how it swamps her. S (the art therapist) pointed out that the girl is trapped and constricted inside the whale, but it also appears that the whale is constricted into the frame of the picture, showing that ED is restrictive, but ED itself is restricted. Also, she is calling for help, her words precious bubbles, but the bubbles pop as soon as they hit the world and are lost, unheard. I was calling and calling for help and it seemed like no one could help me, no one could grab my hand and hold onto me as that tornado inside the whale tried to suck me away.
Mercy of the Fallen(Donated to the Renfrew Center's permanent collection; copies available)
The woman is pulling from the darkness (I didn't intend to put this in the painting originally, but it happened by accident on another piece of paper and I really liked the idea of extreme darkness and grounding) and filling up on all these secrets and shame, all of which distend her belly as they get stuck below the band/ribbon around her waist (S pointed out the emotional restriction caused by this). She is gripping her stomach and squeezing out all of these dark words she needs to speak-- her song, in the form of birds and their dotted-line trajectories and musical notes. Some of the notes have begun to fall, symbolizing my fear that no one will listen and my words will be lost if I dare to speak up. I ended up going back and adding the green glowing around those falling notes (it's difficult to see in the scan, it sort of turned gray from the light) because I've realized that your words can never truly expire, that someone can come along and scoop them up and hear them for what they're worth at any time. The focus of this work was answering the question of what do I need to do to break the cycle of self-injury, what will help me stop the process before I get to the actual act of injuring myself. When I showed L (my home therapist) this painting, she commented on the use of bluebirds, which are apparently a symbol of happiness, and suggested that maybe it has to do with my mother wanting every word that leaves my mouth to be positive and not related to any of my struggles. These happy birds then spit out the notes of what I actually mean, true emotions encapsulated within the birds, if you will.
