I have a kinda huge brain tumour. it is NOT cancer.
the tumour is called an embryonic left temporal lobe sub-arachnoid cyst.
My brain is pretty much, well, considerably deformed.
The painting seemed appropriate. I did it, in charcoal and chalk and red pastel, a few years ago. Entireley free-ahnd, of course. Don’t think I could poise like that anyway rilly.
This is a SPECT scan.
The scan shows blood flow, which indicates neurological activity.
As you can probably see… i am a LEETLE LOPSIDED in this department.
note… the image on the top left is a normal brain doin’ it’s normal thing and probably able to hold a job and stack things without them falling over and such like.
the one on the right is MINE. It is MESSED UP.
It’s pretty well. BIG. the tumour itse;f is the size of a woman’s clenched fist.
The pressure has been so great from this cyst that my skull is uneven and deformed at the back of my head.
I HAVE A MENTAL ILLNESS. THIS IS WHY.
For anyone who sees this, who walks with me in illusion, delusion, in terror and distortion: for you all, who have been degraded and insulted by the millions of Australians who profess “not to believe” in mental illness.
Show them these pictures.
And perhaps have these scans performed on your savagely strange, freakish and beautiful brain.
If nothing else… they may, they might, in colour oh such COLOUR; maybe…they could prize open the viciously resolute minds that will not accept who and what is before them.
In pain and in need.
I imagine it as… a spider’s sack i saw once being carried by what must have been a mommy spider, on her back. being a child atthe time, i, traditionally, poked it with a stick.
hundreds and hundreds of tiny spiders seethed and crawled furisouly out of the sack, all over the mommy spider. At this point, horrified, ZI ran away, possibly for a can of fly spray. but i thought as i peltted into the kitchen to grab it that i could no more kill such a thing than behave like a normal child, or sit still, or rule a straight line, or cut anything with scissors.
Also by the time i reached the kitcheni believe i had forgotten why i had gone there (this happens 30 or 40 or so times a day, depending on the availability of a kitchen.) i remember the sack, though. And the mommy spider, in frantic agitation as she was covered in her progeny. i have read that at that point they have been known to eat their mom.
serves her right for eating her husband, huh?
i belive this accounts for being bipolar and kinda mad. The chronic pain screaming to me that my skin is on fire, that I am BURNING, for the last 4 years, indubitably finds its aetiology herein…
it also accounts, probably, for a great deal of my creativity, and also for spelling belive without two ’e’s. Nah not really only just did that then.
though the creative penchant and some capability must stem for here, i have forced them into existence with my will. i have made them happen. i am fiercely proud. i have known what it is to live a life without will; without hope or accomplishment… i was an alcoholic till 98.