Some of my twitter friends read that I slept 11 hours last night, which I felt was poetic since it is 11/11/11 today.
I had convinced myself I hadn’t created any art until I remembered sitting in the waiting room at my therapist’s office. He stood me up. That has never happened to me before, so I sat in the waiting room and wrote. My theme for Art Every Day Month? Depression, and the women writer and artists who suffered with it. Some of these women lived, some of these women died at their own hands. I figure my writing here fits into this theme.
I figured I would share it here, along with some old photos of me crying. Yes, those are actual tears. I was such a faithful self portrait taker for a year that I was sobbing and I caught it, on film. Depression is something I live with daily, and I have chosen to not allow it to defeat me.
So – the crying photos are not from the present though the writing – including the poem- is present.
“No one speaks in this waiting room. No eyes lift up hoping for mindless conversation. Everyone knows what everyone else is here for and none of us are necessarily happy about it. My eyes hurt. I would rather sleep than be here.
“A woman comes out of the hallway door which leads to the offices. She is wearing a well coifed version of a jogging suit. Her face is red, eyes glassy from tears.
“She attempts to slink out, unseen. Her neck was lifted up and suddenly she reminded me of a rattle snake, on the move.
A Poem is Born: The Day My Therapist….
Still we wait. Four of us. Woman
#Three in tennis shoes (for fast exit?)
Her eyes scan the magazine whose
Cover proclaims, ‘Lose 43 pounds!’ (so specific)
Daughter, probably 14, reads Cosmopolitan
I could declare, randomly, “I can drink some
Hard liquor and run from here, (quickly…)
Wearing my New Balance or Nikes or some
Ubiquitous no-name knock off.”
I spot a camera in the corner of the room ~
I wonder what it sees. (I wonder if it is testing us ~)
“Wait til one of them freaks out and then go
Rescue and love the “Oh, Lordy” girl who
I notice has splotches of yellow on her shirt.
No, it wouldn’t be me to freak out.
My WASP training is deep (and wide.)
“Never make phone calls before 9 AM or
After 9 PM. Don’t freak out in
Shrink’s offices. For God’s sake. (CONTROL!”)
The woman sat in the waiting room, her
Best Western pen from Concord moves
Up and down, down and up. The woman
Thinks “This ought to be my therapy”
And indeed it was, and has been for a long time.
Anxiety moves up her spine escalator
It halts between Women’s Lingerie and
Boy’s Apparel, Sizes 8 – 20. She measures
Her options: keep standing still or
Walk up or walk down
Choice making stunted lately
She stands stuck, between the floors
Tapping her toes in the gritty stair,
She finally decides, “My therapist
Has stood me up” and leaves, grabbing her
Co-payment on the way out."
~ ~
I have had so much stress lately, I am exhausting myself.
So what if I slept 11 hours last night? I needed it.
It is 2:44 pm and I feel tired again.
And I promise my next Art EveryDay Month will include some “in the moment” visuals.
Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott
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