Fleshing

Out

By

Janice Williams

Synopsis: This book is a hodgepodge of images all

related in some way to the concept of being

embodied as opposed to being dissociated with

Dissociative Identity Disorder. I was surprised at

how many artworks I’d unconsciously done around

this topic until I noticed the pattern and decided to

compile them in this ‘Amphlet’.

1 Howdy the Glad-Hand Man

AA, so full of salesman types like my father, became an offal-limits place

for me. I dropped out after ten years, taking my sobriety with me but

leaving the rest.

2 Strollers

For a while, even mothers wheeling their young looked more like my

mother wheeling my father around.

3 Abnormally low tides exposed this body builder playing ball with

scorched dependants

‘Codpieces’ like these who let their small fry broil triggered feelings from

childhood in me.

4 ‘Pedestrians Against Rude Cyclists’ (PARC it!s) gained a spokesman

I appreciated scenes where outraged, yet decent, citizens fought back

against oppressors. I hadn’t been the only victim in the world. These folks

were good role models.

5 I waited for the bus to the fair, wanting to view the livestock; but the

heat was searing, the sidewalks crusted with stinking trash, and the bus

stop crowd out of this world. Better luck next year, perhaps…

As a kid in a world full of adult chaos, I’d witnessed the carnage and made

my decision to turn back in on myself, creating worlds inside my own

flesh and head.

6 I watched as two kids spotted an umbrella in a field, approached it,

then began beating it with sticks. Later I noticed one of the boys

wearing it over his shoulders like a lion’s skin. It was the only field-

umbrella incident I witnessed that year.

I’d longed to skin a few objects myself, if I’d only found them unarmed

and alone—and been a unified cast of thousands.

7 Earrings through the ages (‘Not-So-Rapid Transit Observations and

Revelations’)

It took time to integrate, about as long as it took to get anywhere on a

bus (just kidding!), especially when you were already late. I don’t want to

scare off other sufferers or travelers along the route to integration and

healing, but it took years longer than I’d hoped—and I worked incredibly

hard. The journey gave me time to see, think, analyze, visualize, compare,

and prepare with art. I saw how emotions built up and weighed me down

the longer they were ignored, not addressed; and how those feelings

cried out with louder and heavier colours to be heard.

8 Flash flood

Moments of insight were like disasters I saw on tv—only not as

devastating to the neighborhood.

9 Glaring at the mud puddle left it barely ruffled

I realized that much of my ‘real’ life was out of my control—yet after all

the work I’d done on the inner world, it didn’t seem to matter as much.

10 Zipper at start of seawall walk; zipper by seawall’s end

The seawall could be a metaphor for the art I’d done for years, and how

I’d opened up to my selves as I went along, meeting the other parts as

they went back and forth through time. I got this image from watching

my boyfriend unfurling after a mid-term on our walks!

11 A friend mocks me for my ‘ivory tower lifestyle’, and dares me to

enter the real world, Afflu-Villa 500—a nightly seawall walk. I’m

disqualified for greeting a crow.

Other people might be living in ivory towers too, inside their own heads

or in fantasy worlds of ‘being someone’ impressive or glamorous (a

queen, a captain, a New Age know-it-all, a no-age nuke-it-all) to earn the

‘seal of approval’ from onlookers. I escaped the stress of promenades by

feeding my beloved crows, who didn’t care what I did for a living or even

who I was, if I treated them well.

12 Seawall people with a pressing need to be special used: adorable

offspring; gigantic bird-watching scopes; aggressive jogging maneuvers;

unusual mutts; high-fashion duds; operatic solos….

I used several tools myself, but since I was there to be looked at and not

really be, for most of my life, I had to look at others in order for them to

return the favor and give me the silent feedback I craved. After years of

connecting with myself through art, it felt like fun!

13 Religious woman walking the seawall with God

My greatest pleasure when I’d walked with God myself in my Born-Again

days had been to have others witness my goodness, to see me being

worthy. And anyone seeing me with a big dude like God probably

wouldn’t want to mess with me, perhaps, preferring to heckle weaker

heathen types.

14 That snake in the grass was a real handful; we all helped out, though

everyone had better things to do

My father had been that snake.

15 The thief was armed and dangerous

My father had been that thief, leaving us without defences. He had no

defence for his underhanded actions.

16 Jumping out of my skin

I exfoliated often as a child (and had developed a temporary but brutal

case of psoriasis in my teens shortly before my first breakdown).

17 Mr. Dick, my home room teacher, looked like Rhett Butler and hoped

I’d be his Scarlett

All the other kids had gone, taking even their desks. The abused child part

was left, alone. Why, in real life, when I was a child, had adult men found

me so appealing? And how could I let them down politely? They were so

intimidating to me, after my experiences with my father, that I melted

into a memory under their dreamy gaze.

18 The ups outweighed the downs, but caused my broken heart

Perpetual stress on an organ like this caused a fracture between my brain

and my body and split my mind off like a spectrum.

19 When I tried exiting my undershirt without baring my breasts, the

enraged garment pythoned me. I failed Phys. Ed. that year, but

graduated to bras

I did handstands with DID to both look up my dress with self-contempt

and wear it simultaneously whenever Perils of Pauline plights such as this

became too degrading.

20 Urination highlights: a brief history of pissing

I expressed my own ‘Piss on you!’ fearlessness and disdain at times when

I felt protected enough, or when I grew so frightened that I switched with

DID.

21 Teen years bathroom: note distorted mirror, nicotine-stained

fixtures, towel like shroud of Turin, and fellow butting out after butting

in

Part of me observed the squalor from the safety of a web in the corner.

Yet, despite rotting towels, no privacy, slivers of soap, emptied tubes of

toothpaste, frayed brushes, and exfoliations in every direction, this room

became my refuge—small enough to see from every angle what might be

heading my way. The mirror provided a quick escape if I had to leave

myself in a hurry. Addictions remained comforting features. The towel

recorded my wet body’s imprint, evidence of my three-dimensional

reality; while protector parts repeatedly checked me out, and sometimes

in (to psychiatric wards).

22 Virtual unreality: a mo’ bile advertisement

I continued ‘part-y-ing’ for years, getting nowhere, oblivious to what was

plain to any outsider not doing the same.

23 The headache commercial man takes a break

I might have been a great ad for a spaced-out kid on drugs and booze—

except that even without them, I was zoned on/with DID.

24 Mom always dressed us funny, and said her mom had done the

same; it was tradition

The grey teen with the question mark face throws her hands up in

confusion over her see-through clothes; but I know why I was angry. The

kid on the left is wearing chips on her shoulder, signs of DID’s distorted

body images. It was hard enough feeling constricted, strait-jacketed,

deformed, and grotesque without having to wear clothes that mirrored

that view. Integration gave me more freedom to wear clothes I actually

liked.

25 No mention of un-borns left in the law firm’s toilet; yet the mystery

mother hadn’t flushed it

I was horrified to see this; and the sight triggered and started some heavy

objects rolling which years later I realized had been feelings. The child’s

umbilical cord had been severed. I wondered how anyone could reject it,

then leave it floating like a turd they might have even hoped others

would witness. It disgusted me, and I went back a few times to look at it,

to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing; but then I got on with my

life, perhaps hoping to make up for its lost time.

26 Checkup

I neglected my teeth, my hair, and any other body parts requiring outside

touch. My ends had split right back to childhood by the time I got another

haircut.

27 Outrojects

I grouped the whole world of ‘others’ together, mirroring my parents’

global disapproval globally myself, outside my inner world.

28 For years, earnest helpers failed to see my breathing, feeling parts

Later, I demonstrated the ‘iron-y’ of mechanical healing techniques in my

auto-mechanical classes of art I did in my apartment for years.

29 Red-lipped ghosts with kindly eyes

Drinking from communal bloodlines, these jocular, jugular memories and

feelings began draining my time with demands on my attention. They

somehow knew my desperate need for a trance fusion.

30 Dormant extras on a movie set

The whole time I was working, via art, to find out what my parts were,

more parts politely waited on the sidelines to take center stage if the

going got rough.

31 Goldsters demanded ‘full sidewalk’

Everyday sights had a tendency to trigger deeply buried truths I’d filed

away in the graveyard behind my facades. Like these elders, my oldest

parts, the child parts, demanded respect from the youngster parts who

were in their thirties and forties, who didn’t know what they’d missed—

their own childhoods. These feisty old parts refused to bend to the will of

intellects analysts, preferring to do art with sometimes disgusting

materials rather than with software paint programs.

32 I passed a postie sitting inside his box waiting for a mailbag pickup

I became more aware of and sensitive to people whose privates weren’t

so ‘private’; and many people began looking more like clones of my

deceased father, my frightened child selves, and my hated other sides.

33 Bus stop greysters, drenched by a sudden summer storm, become

unwilling participants in the “Seniors’ Wet T-Shirt Contest”

Babies and mothers brought up horrific memories for me; while scenes of

people feeling humiliated triggered even more.

34 When a bus was late, older people worried first

Did I want to take that awaited bus, when it might lead this time to the

concentration camp of night where my dad had exterminated me time

and time again? Yet I needed that bus to come, needed my dad to leave

the bar and drive us home from school in his water taxi, no matter what

happened later that night. My DID is indicated in the many selves, the

patterned scarves, earrings, and the staring eyes. A military man on the

front lines of every way I endured was an old protector part; no wonder

he’s so tired. Another was used to starving; and one’s been raped.

Another wants the world to ‘act right and be nice’. One longs to put on

fresh perfume, since the stench of memories is getting to her even after a

hard day’s addictive shopping. Yet another wants to take her heavy

earrings off and hear her bloody truths instead of always trying to take

another route. We were all in a hurry to keep moving.

35 If the fire alarm went off, each tenant felt responsible in the Guilt

Complex

This outside world scene was a match, so to speak, for the way I felt

inside about everything that had happened to me as a child.

36 A kindlier look at the genus penis

Gently swaying in currents of now’s thought, these anemone-like

minnows bore no likeness to the sharks that tore my childhood to shards

and parts.

37 The touch of those men, once so crushing and bruising, now seemed

light as butterflies

Who said that?! Some flaky, arty type in me!

38 Before I died and returned to earth, I forgave all maggots who’d

transformed themselves over my dead body

The maggots formerly known as me, that is—those creepy blowflies of

ex-partners were another species altogether!

39 Holiday Hal’s Turkey Belly

This man was at home in his body, definitely!

40 His nose-picking had a sadistic quality; though I suppose masochistic

would be the technically correct term.

41 Party people gave me the multi-coloured look-over; yet, thanks to

therapy, I was able to bear it

I could see my selves looking at a part of my self! Breakthrough!

42 Mental illness: brains in a not over know-thing

43 Physical illness: embodiments

44 My brother had a way with backs

As my own ‘brother’, I was gradually becoming aware of my own body,

and picking up on some its needs behind its own back!

45 Individuating

46 My insignificant others

Bless you all, ye milling masses. Perhaps we’ll meet one day!

47 Unpleasant fantasy (fatasy) #1: slothed

Yikes! I wanted to rest on my laurels; but they were expanding too

quickly, under the influence of endless hours of sitting at a computer or

at a drawing table, inactive but for the intense inner work!

48 Serious inroads were made before I clued in and fought back

I decided to take action physically, now that I had an actual body, which

I’d always wanted to have. I saw that it needed some work, thanks to

years of inactivity.

49 Talkin’ ‘bout my (de)generation

50 Life forms focussing on their own issues

No one had time to focus on mine, really, in that outside world—unless

they were really frustrated about their own flaws and needed to vent

some rage or try working through theirs by pointing out mine.

51 I stuck out like a sore thumb only because I picked on myself

I actually did pick at my thumbs, which had been sore at me for years; a

minor, but obvious, form of self-injury, or perhaps some way to try

getting my own attention.

52 Annual Run to Benefit Joggers Disabled by Marathons

Hurting myself was a no-no; a no-know; it took time to learn moderation

after my life of extremes.

53 Mr. Clean and his brother, Mr. Dirty

For every light side offered by those men who looked so sweet, I’d

stumbled into the arms of their dark brother, Sour.

54 Taking: plunge or dive?

What the heck; when I met a genuinely nice fellow, I took the incredible

risk of being with him.

55 Penis-shaped hand-hair of needy man

My boyfriend offended me at times by having ‘bad moments’, clinging to

me like an overgrown chimp baby. I was the same way with him, too; but

it felt more comfortable when I did it, to be honest.

56 Needy man’s hands, penis, and lifeline, with fingerprints and

stigmata intact

Someone being so kind to me was outrageously frightening.

57 Limited Man

I’d characterized all men after my father, unfortunately.

59 ‘Kelp!’ Why bald, freckled men are seldom rescued from seaweed

In this artwork, my father’s head surfaced, bobbling in the seawall wash.

He’d stopped bumping into me on the streets, trigger-wise, I realized,

after spending ten years after his death haunting my old stomped-on

grounds.

60 The continuing evolution of Kelp Man

My father gradually merged into the scenery and done-ery and shrank to

mere scraps of occasional recall.

61 An ageing ex-flexer bares his ‘Dorian Grey’ tattoo (‘Flesh Lava’)

62 Thick-necked buddies don’t talk much

What a ton of quiet, good-natured fellows suddenly seemed to be on the

planet! An invasion of strong, silent types who preferred drinking Bud

with pals than doing any heavy thinking, or breathing, for that matter.

Just nice fellows; I found it incredibly relaxing to watch them standing in

placid herds on playing field sidelines and other pleasant places.

63 Life goes on, as the sagga continues

64 ‘Jungle’ ran a lucrative ‘personal training’ operation, till more

reputable services got wind of him

Being a recluse of sorts, or having been one, I avoided traps I observed

some women falling into who, like me, had suddenly noticed a change in

their physical bodies. I preferred to stay in touch with my physical being

myself, thank you.

65 Having that one damned flaw made Achilles more miserable than

hosts of imperfections

I’d spent years focussing on one enormous flaw—the fact that I existed—

and all the while, masses were struggling with their own defects. The

world was full of both them, and cures for them.

66 Lineups

67 Simple soul

68 The Ripple-Chip Effect

69 When he shot me with his flash, all I saw was his smile

The End