My therapist invited me to draw there in the session. ‘What does anger look like?’ she asked. I drew this, but didn’t understand what I’d drawn, as I was so dissociated from my feelings. But Wow! That’s an explosion of anger!

But look at the left half of the picture. Something else is growing bigger and exploding too. Leave you to guess what that is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ANGER AT THE ABUSER [or at the NOT-GOOD-ENOUGH PARENT]

 

Sandplay done at a group arts therapy program at hospital. My strong self is standing up to my abuser. I’ve put a wall around me for protection and have got armed backup ranged behind me. HE WON’T HURT ME ANY MORE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ballad of a loving Axe-Murderer

Oh, Lily-head my Daddy is,
all cleaved apart
axe-sundered.
What fiendish monkey took my heart
to plot such deed,
sin-plundered.

His reddened lips purse rosy-bloom,
all quivering soft,
bed-tendered.
And hooded eyes a mask of love
glow gently green,
kin-rendered.

When waking with his head in two                       
sent weakly bleats
re-hearsing,
My daughter why are you so cruel
to one so near,
me-cursing.

So Daddy darling with silk thread
I sewed you up,
criss-crossing,
though you were slimy greenly dead,
this gift of life
mere glossing.

Forgive me dear, my Daddy Love,
our dreaming-love
asp-dying,
my reddened hair down shoulders bare,
my reddened eyes
un-crying.

What should I feel, where lies my heart
if ‘love’, this word,
deleted?
A dreadful pit were in me then,
where venom seeps,
secreted.

I’ll bring my song to ending now,
my heart is dead,
chop-slaughtered.
I lay the lily on his breast,
and turn to live,
un-daughtered.

 

 

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