1988- Journal entry

I wrote this when I was early in my recovery and still trying to figure out what was going on around me and within me. I was 18 years old...

Life is a mirror, look at what you see.
The crowd behind you begins to flee.
The rage you feel begins to surge
you clinch your fists, you feel the urge
Shatter your life, break the mirror
feel the pain, the pain is fear.
your all alone, no one around
the thoughts in your head are the only sound

it really sucks, its always the same.
the life I lived was a no win game.
Try and be happy I know I should.
Try so hard...I wish I could.
To end it all I think I would.
All I did was fucking cry.
I never had the nerve to die.
Every thing's the same, nothing new.
What am I suppose to do?

It's my desicion
I'll decide.
to take the ride
or run and hide.

B

Why do I draw circles.

"I sketched every morning in a notebook a small circular drawing, a mandala, which seemed to correspond to my inner situation at the time. With the help of these drawings I could observe my psychic transformations from day to day…My mandalas were cryptograms…in which I saw the self—that is, my whole being—actively at work."

“In such cases it is easy to see how the severe pattern imposed by a circular image of this kind compensates the disorder of the psychic state– namely through a the construction of a central point to which everything is related, or by a concentric arrangement of the disordered multiplicity and of contradictory and irreconcilable elements. This is evidently an attempt at self-healing on the part of Nature, which does not spring from conscious reflection but from an instinctive impulse.”- Carl Jung

I draw circles to relax. Each mark, circle records a moment, a thought, a dream, a desire, an idea, emotion, a memory.
Each mark helps me relax, focus, breathe.
I draw circles to show you what goes on inside my head, my heart, my soul.
B

How Tibetan Sand Mandala is Made and Ritualistically Destroyed

He touches

He touches my head.
The river is cold and angry.
The walls, the air tell me stories.
Sad is not allowed.
He is optimistic.
I look into his eyes
and the river flows outside.
He touches my head.
His hand tells me stories.
Intamacy is not allowed,
pain is a language.
This place is cold and angry.
He touches my head.

B

Take 1/2 a pill 2 times per day

The vessel