The Canvas Of My Being

When we emerge from the womb we are a blank canvas. As we live our lives, different people leave their mark on our canvas in different ways. We are all artists, leaving our paint on others. Whether we realize it or not. Some will paint with large, sweeping strokes that change our entire being and others will only leave the slightest traces, soon to be forgotten entirely.

Our parents are the first ones to begin shaping our canvas. Luckily, I was blessed with two parents who loved me deeply. They made parenting their number one priority, and strove to do their best at all times. They painted with warm colors: reds and pinks. The colors of love. This original art has long since been covered up. But it still remains deep inside me, and I hope to share it with my children one day. Upon entering elementary school, my interactions with peers were mostly positive. They added little streaks of green and yellow. Fifth grade was the first time I ever experienced depression. It morphed my canvas, adding deep gashes of dark blue to something that was once filled with bright, cheerful color. It also warped the edges, fraying them and making me feel older then I actually was. Middle school was when other kids began to realize I was different. The bullying began, which covered up all the brightness that was left with splotches of black.

Then I met P. He saw my canvas for what it was: broken, sad and dark. He recognized weakness and fear. I allowed him to take my canvas for his own. At first, he painted it with the colors of love. However, he never fully covered up the scars of my past. Depression would still afflict me, long streaks of navy splashing across the deep reds P used. Eventually, P became frustrated with his artwork. He began to tear at my once beautiful painting, scorching it with fire and turning it black. Finally, when he was on the brink of destroying me entirely, I took my canvas back.

I have begun to repair the damage P did. I am slowly painting over the tattered ruins with a bright orange. The orange that represents me and is the essence of who I am. I am taking back myself, turning this canvas into a beautiful piece of art that is almost entirely my own. A adds streaks of purple, and S adds small yellow dots. But they just make me more original. Helping to shape me into this new self. This orange is vibrant and brilliant. It does not completely cover P’s carnage, but one day it will. Every day there is progress; I am growing into an individual. For now, I protect my canvas. Others are not allowed easy access to it. However, they can see the orange radiating from a distance. One day, I hope to join my canvas with someone else, to make an exquisite piece of art neither of us could accomplish without the other.


2 thoughts on “The Canvas Of My Being

  1. Hi. πŸ™‚ If I started blogging in May 2010, it would have looked very similar to yours. I’m one of those people you talked about in that one post who see others for who they really are, and I can see you easily because I remember feeling just like you. My P spent three years on my canvas, and there was definitely abuse. I let it happen because he was a sweet guy who slowly succumbed more and more to depression, and I wanted to help him. But eventually I realized there was nothing I could do, and that he was hurting me. There’s obviously a lot more to this story, and maybe I’ll write a whole post about it for you. But what I want to say to you is that I am such a strong person now because of what I went through. It took a long time, about a year, for me to see my P for what he really was (a compulsive liar) and then months more to accept that our whole relationship could have been a lie. And there were other men during that time that I now see were a coping mechanism, and I do regret those times but understand that I couldn’t have avoided them. And after I put myself back together and became basically untouchable, there was a wonderful man waiting for me, one who had been a great friend to me through everything and wanted nothing but my happiness. So don’t lose hope, and don’t put too much stock in men until you’ve become whole yourself. Use good men to lean on, certainly, but take them with a grain of salt.
    Gah, I know this all would’ve sounded like cliche advice to me back then, but hopefully you can take something useful from all this, if only a new friend. πŸ™‚ I can’t tell whether or not you can send messages on here, but you’re free to talk to me whenever, about anything.
    One thing that helped me cope a ton was music, and if you want I can recommend new stuff for you depending on what you like to listen to. I can tell already that you’re going to come out of this an amazing woman, and then you’ll be ready to be fully in love with a great man. πŸ™‚

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