entry 2 : memory journal
CW: suicide, personal
im high so enjoy this ramble while im thinking.
watched jacob geller's video called "art for noone" and him talking about the really big sculpture in nevada called city. it's only available to 6 people for 3 days a week from may to november, and people are chosen in a lottery. and the one thing i think about a lot is the fact you can't take any photos but you can write about it or draw it.
gave me inspiration to probably start doing travel journals and depend on describing what i experienced in writing or drawings. since i have bad memory problems it might make it more special or easier to live through instead of just photos, i probably will take photos but make sure its on a polaroid to save in my journal or so it can be printed out and stuck in there.
even if i can keep a chunk of a memory trapped forever that i can look back at without it being destroyed or corrupted in my own skull. writing can help describe what im feeling or seeing and put things in more detail or give more context to any photos i have, drawing helps me remember stuff better to by etching out every shape and line to have it printed and engraved in my own memory. instead of just a snapshot of a memory saved i have the whole experience and dialouge saved, feelings and sights being more described so i can remember my own memory instead of having it just served to me to digest and forget again. i can be walked through it like a museum instead of it being served to me on a plate and eaten in one bite.
having a bad memory and dealing with amnesia of DID and generally the experience that is C-PTSD makes everything hard to remember and this can also snake into when i first talked about my mothers death to my therapist. hers didn't die the same way mine did but still a parental death, she has a better relationship than i did with my mother but she told me i should make myself a "death book" since i mentioned i can't remember any good experiences with her. i take an empty journal and i write down every memory i have and write down feelings and whatever about her, tape down photos or notes she's given me and basically make a little shrine just in this journal. i havent done that yet and the only things i have left of her are some notes, a few leather tags she made to add to her handbags and a digital camera with some photos of her in them that she took back in 2011 of her modeling her own purses.
this could just be something about memory and how i can probably do more things to keep myself busy, or just realizing that the longer away i live from her the more of her will rot away. its kind of ironic, my bad memory due to trauma as a kid and beyond being a good chunk caused by her. her killing herself and slowly finishing it off forever from her other stupid choices, dragging any memory of herself down with her. being burned away like her body was.
dark post to start this blog off with, but im high and it doesnt really matter.