Saturday, January 30, 2016

Snip snip snip with their scalpels.

Through soft tissue.

The softest tissues of our vaginas.

With their scalpels. In their white robes.

Snip. Snip. Snip, away.

Ever so daintily, with such precision, such focused concentration.

They say that they are healing us.

We believe them, blindly.

We let them into our vaginas. With their scalpels.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Away.

Ever so daintily. They implant into us polypropylene mesh. They tell us that it will help with urinary incontinence, it will help with prolapse.

What they don't tell is that:

Hundred of thousands of women are being butchered through their vaginas.

They don't tell us that our bodies reject mesh, that mesh erodes, damaging our nerves, our muscles, perforating our bowels....leaving us wishing we were dead.

They don't tell us that that thousands of women have committed suicide because of the excruciating nerve pain that they are left with.

What they don't tell us, those humans? in their white robes, cloaked in their medical expertise, armed in their years of medical 'education' that they are murdering us one by one through our vaginas.

Ever so daintily with focused attention and perfect precision...they implant us with poison....

When we return to their offices, desperate and begging for help, they tell us that we are crazy.

They lie through their teeth. They have already seen countless women walk through their office doors begging for help.

But they have no time to waste on their victims. They must prepare the table for the next woman.

Ever so daintily with perfect precision, each slice calculated, they gently, thoughtfully, ever so intentionally slice through our flesh...and ever so carefully, with focused precision, each tear calculated...they sever the tissues of our vaginas and implant us with poison...

Ever so carefully, with perfect precision, cloaked in their white robes...

I am posting here the e-mail that I just wrote to Tara. Tara is teaching me about mesh. This is where my heart and soul is now.

"Thank you Tara. So you already have the sensitivity and the compassion towards the animals. That makes me feel better. There are so many people that I love deeply that don't and it hurts and sometimes I just feel overwhelmed by the anger. Meeting mesh has brought up so much anger in me. I am so angry Tara. It is so evil. I don't know if I can see it any other way. Is there a way to see it from the doctor's perspective? Do they not know what they are doing? Do they really believe that they are helping women by putting mesh into them?

On the one hand I say that I 'understand' (that evil is evil) but on the other hand, I can't comprehend at all. It just kills me inside. It just kills me Tara. Are we just being butchered through our vaginas by the hundreds of thousands? Is this really what is happening? Our vaginas are under attack for money Tara? Is this true? I have come to believe that it is more true than not and I remind myself that the holocaust was true, the witch-hunts were true, Tara, their vaginas were checked for 'signs'....the tortures they endured.....I watched a video of mesh surgery, I looked at photographs, Tara the video is so horrible, they show the surgery, the way they slice through the vaginal skin tissue ever so daintily.....and all with music in the background.....Tara, are they really doing this for the money? They are destroying lives knowing that they are destroying lives for the money? Is it hatred against women? What is it? It is too horrible to comprehend. And how it is done, hidden, cloaked in their white robes.....

You are like me, always helping others. It gets overwhelming. I feel like I am drowning sometimes and I need to salvage myself because how else can I do anything successfully?

It is a challenge. Don't have any regrets about teaching me. I am ready to learn. There is a reason that it is happening now. Think how long I have been advocating for PN without knowing anything about mesh. I have to learn, I know that it is my calling....

I just have to protect myself because the evil scares me. It makes me shiver. And the suffering breaks my heart. It is from this broken place that I create my art. I know that my art means something to women, i know that my art is necessary, i know.....

I just have to find the balance and that is not easy. My neighbor had a rage attack at me today. I don't feel safe here anymore. She is a supposedly recovering heroine addict, constantly swearing and key disappeared....i had to change the locks....She hates me for having access to the gallery space downstairs....why bother explaining horrible abusive people...they just are what they are.....i am so tired of being near them but they are everywhere.

Tara, how do you stay sane with love? How do you not hate the doctors, the companies, the fda?

Tara, it is like entering a horror show that never ends and all around me are the corpses only they are not dead, they are still alive and they are begging for my help and i just want to scream and scream and scream.....And i have to scream through my art. You have seen my screams right?

There is a juried show coming up. I will submit a piece about mesh. Tara, so many times a day, I start to cry, like now, my heart is broken for all of this suffering.

I wouldn't give it up. but sometimes this sensitivity feels like a curse. 

Even 'Spirit Wings' looks silly to me now with all of these smiling angels seeing the beauty in the ordinary when women are being butchered. For God's sake, I am possessed by this devil Tara. This mesh devil has entered me and I have no choice but to fight.

I want to go to the dumpster near by to seek out metal pieces. Oh god, back to the chains and the knives,,,,i thought that i was done with that. But it seems that they are calling to me again.

How do we do this and protect ourselves too? Stay with peace and love and still fight so hard?

Not let the anger devour us? The injustice stamp us out? "

I have been learning more and more about mesh and mesh injured women and the more I learn the more terrifying it becomes. It reminds me of the holocaust, of the nazi doctor Joseph Mengele and it reminds me of the factory 'farms'. I had a breakthrough last week with the animals. I performed a new poem that I wrote. It was powerful and I was brave and I am grateful that I was able to do it. I knew that if I could do that then I could do anything. This is the poem that I wrote and shared in a restaurant inhabited by about 70 to 80 people, many of them with meat or what I prefer to call by its real name, 'the flesh of tortured animals' on their plates. Truthfully if we can dine and wine on torture and agony why would we be surprised that women are being butchered through their vaginas for money. To me it is all the same. Joseph Mengele exists everywhere in different forms...factory farming and mesh are his siblings. We all have abusive people in our families. I am the last person to deny that evil exists everywhere and that it is happening right now underneath our noses. What is shameful is that we remain silent in the face of brutality be it to animals, to women or to....

I won't remain silent. Not about mesh and not about factory farming. This is the poem that I performed last Monday at the Muse in Provincetown. 

I introduced myself saying that I am sharing a new poem from my body of work called 'Poetry for the Gut' and then I began with confidence and with freedom in my heart.

'The floors of the slaughterhouse are covered, in blood.

But it's not the blood that makes it so bad.

The terror in their eyes and the nausea in their stomachs?

No, even that isn't what makes it so bad now, is it?

The screaming? Have you heard a pig, screaming?

They sound just like humans.

Have you seen a pig thrown into boiling water alive?

That's common practice in the meat industry.

But  maybe that's just not bad enough for you, is it?

How about a pig hanging from his feet, being skinned alive?

Can you hear the screaming now?

I am going to help you here, because something is clearly not coming through.

I am going to bring the factory so called 'farms' to you.

Pigs. Are. Confined. They cannot move. They cannot turn around. For months. They lose their mind. They bang their heads violently against the wall. They bite obsessively into iron bars.

Cold. Iron.

Is that what your heart is made of?

Trapped. Chained. Forsaken. Abused. Tortured.

Oh, and one more thing, baby pigs have their testicles ripped out of them. Beaten. Broken.

Violence. Greed.

And you, you call this an apatite?

You call this dinner? lunch? breakfast?

The next time you eat the flesh of a tortured pig I hope that a piece of you dies.

I hope that compassion grows into that dead piece of you.

I hope it grows fast because their screams are killing me.'

                                                                        Atara Schimmel

I think that this Monday I will perform the vagina poem. I will dedicate it to the 30 million american women and the significant but undocumented number of men that suffer from some form of pelvic/genital/sexual pain and I will dedicate it to the hundreds of thousands of mesh injured women. I feel so angry and desperate and I feel such a sense of urgency. I am so angry at what is being done to women. We are being destroyed systematically by surgeons through our vaginas. Oh my god. I just can't tell you how many times I have cried since reading and learning more and speaking to more and more women. If I wasn't doing my art I would want to die from it. It does the same thing that the holocaust does to me and that factory 'farming' does to me. Only that the difference here is that I feel that I CAN do something and I feel that I AM GOING TO DO SOMETHING MAJOR. I can't explain the feeling. I just know that I am going to burst and that I am going to be heard big time. I just have to protect myself. My own sensitivity can kill me. 

These paintings are in process. This one is going to say something like
 'Mesh sisters stay together.'

This one is going to say ' Mesh-injured sisters, I am praying for you.'

And to add joy onto joy, as though I have not suffered enough at the hands of an abusive older brother. Now I live next to a (recovering?) heroine addict, local street performer that is aggressive and abusive. I do not feel safe here.

I want to live in a safe and quiet space with a beautiful view of the sea with plenty of room inside my home to do my art. I want to live in peace and quiet. I want to be able to take care of myself. Goddess help me.

I have so much work to do. I have to be able to remain balanced, focused and peaceful in order to do my work in a way that won't hurt myself. Meeting mesh heads on is a meeting with the devil and this devil is dangerous and cruel. I need safety and peace to be able to meet the devil and fight him successfully.

Why are there abusive people everywhere? And will they ever get out of my hair?

I am not feeling loved or loving today. I was cursed and violently screamed at. I called the police and changed the locks on the door. My key has disappeared since last night, if it doesn't suddenly swim out of the toilet bowl or drop down from a star than either my crazy neighbor stole it or a workman that was here yesterday stole it. Needless to say I started looking for a new place to live. My little dream room in Provincetown with the gorgeous view of the sea is no longer safe for me.

I haven't started praying to the angels yet. But that will be next on the agenda. Oh, and one good thing, I practiced the guitar and made headway with the chords and I feel ready and prepared for my next lesson.

One day I am going to sing my troubles, oh they will sound so beautiful sung.

Atara, here is a blessing for you. I want you to know that I am proud of the incredibly important work that you are doing. I want you to know that I love you deeply and that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and protected living in peace and in quiet.

I am working on a painting to raise awareness for mesh. I will submit it to the Provincetown Art Association's upcoming juried show. I can pray that it be seen and recognized and admitted into the show. Pray for me too. Together we can make it happen.

Monday, January 25, 2016

I did something brave tonight.

I performed this poem that I wrote today in front about 70 to 80 people at the Muse in Provincetown during Open Mic.

The Muse serves a lot of dead tortured animals and many of the people in the audience were dining on them.

I explained that this is a new poem from my new body of work called: Poetry for the Gutt

Here goes:

'The floors of the slaughterhouse are covered in blood.

But it's not the blood that makes it so bad.

The terror in their eyes and the nausea in their stomachs.

No, even that isn't what makes it so bad, now, is it?

The screaming. Have you heard a pig, screaming?

They sound just like humans.

Have you seen a pig thrown into boiling water alive?

That's common practice in the meat industry.

But, maybe, that's just not bad enough for you, is it?

How about a pig hanging from his feet, being skinned alive.

Can you hear the screaming now?

I am going to try to help you here, because something is clearly not coming through.

I am going to bring the factory so called 'farms' to you.

Pigs, Are. Confined. They cannot move. They lose their minds. They bang their heads against the walls. They bite obsessively into iron bars.

Cold. Iron.

Is that what your heart is made off?

Trapped. Chained. Forsaken. Abused. tortured.

Oh, and one more thing, baby pigs have their testicles ripped out of them. Beaten. Broken.

Violence. Greed.

And you, you call this an apatite?

You call this dinner? lunch? breakfast?

The next time you eat the flesh of a tortured animal I hope that a piece of you dies.

I hope that compassion grows into that dead piece of you.

I hope that it grows fast because their screams are killing me."

                                                                      -Atara Schimmel

I though that I might be booed of the stage but I wasn't. Few people clapped but the silence felt more appropriate anyway.

I dared myself to do it. It was easy. I want to speak my truth wherever I am regardless of how others will respond to it. That is their choice. My choice is to be brave and to honor every aspect of who I am and what I know to be true.

Congratulations Atara. I really am so proud of you. I love you to the moon and back and into the factory 'farms' and around the world and anywhere and everywhere that your beautiful light-footed feet may travel.

You are everything that I wish to be. You lived up to yourself big time tonight.

What a beautiful day!

What an absolutely beautiful beautiful beautiful day. The sunset was light blues and light pinks and I danced in the cold, to keep warm, to stay with the sunset and the seagulls and to feel the beauty fill my Spirit.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

It has been hard to be away from my blog, hard to be away from myself that way. To not be able to write and express everything that I am going through is clearly a part and parcel of being terrorized. Yes, I have been and continue to be terrorized by my older brother, David. His reign of terror over me pretty much ended two years ago when my mother finally (after months of begging him to leave) had him removed from the house with a restraining order. He was taken out of the house by the police. I have never written about this in my blog though I lived through this all along. Somehow when we are abused we believe that we must stuff the abuse into the corner of our hearts. But every cell in my body wants to speak. And every cell in my body is creating through that hard-won place of victory. Victory over evil, Victory over someone else's desire to control, power, subjugate me. Victory over my own fear and over my own impenetrable silence. I don't want to be silent anymore not even for the sake of self-preservation. The truth is cruel, ugly and disgusting. The truth is that I have an older brother that has terrorized me and the rest of my family members for years now. The truth is that I no longer want to to be a silent victim. I want to express it all in the same way that I express and share everything about Pudendal Neuralgia. Sibling Abuse should be no different. Today I know that my older brother will try to hurt me as long as I am alive and that my silence will only chain me to his abuse, stifle my creativity and block the deeper truths of my expressions and of my art.

I came up against a wall in my own art recently and I think that through writing this I am beginning to understand what this wall is. Fear. Fear of David. Fear of his anger. Fear of his obsessive hatred of all of us. Fear of his desire to seek revenge. What will he do if he finds this? I know that he knows that I have a blog. I feel frozen. Frozen in fear. I have come so far. I have and continue to be a voice for so many when it comes to pelvic pain. But here I am frozen. I am scared of David. His hatred has become an obsession that will follow him for the rest of his life. I thought that he had moved on. I hadn't seen him for two years. Until I went back home. I went back home to celebrate my mom's birthday with her.  I wanted to hug her a lot.

But instead I had to defend myself in court. David tried to get a Harassment Prevention order against me. He hates me and my younger brother with a vengeance. He knows that as long as we are alive we will not allow him to further abuse and dominate our parents. He wants to come home to resume his reign of terror, his dictatorship. My parents with all of their feelings of guilt and compassion...would allow him to come home. Though they both have suffered through hell, they would suffer more. Me and my younger brother will no longer allow for this to happen. David has violated the restraining order and the trespassing order. His abuse has been documented by the Springwell Elderly Abuse Services. And yet, he remains unstoppable.

In his own mind, if he could only neutralize me and my younger brother than he could return home to control my parents. I have watched his sadism with my parents. He blames them for his own mental illness, for his botched up childhood, for his non-existent self-esteem....He blames them for everything. He hates our mother with a passion. Today he hates all of us with a passion.

Yes, it is. It is very scary to live with an older brother like David. Yes, it is. Mental illness has been in my family since I can remember. And while I plummeted into PN hell my father plummeted into a psychotic depression. And David did everything that he could do to control and dominate all of us.

I worked very hard these past few weeks. I had to gather all of the police records and I had to prepare my "defense". Most of all, I had to finally internalize that I was not safe from harm as I had thought that I was. I was shocked that the courts would allow David to abuse me through the court system. Had he tried to do this in Newton he would have never gotten away with it. But because he no longer lives in Newton and because the courts in Concord do not know of his history he was able to get away with it. Apparently anyone can request a Harassment Prevention Order against anyone else. I had no choice but to go and defend myself. By the way, David "invited" my Mom to the same court over the summer, also seeking a 'Harassment Prevention Order" against her. Only that on the day of the hearing he didn't show up. In his own deranged mind he is the victim and he is seeking justice.

The judge clearly thought that he was an idiot. To claim that I harass him with his history of violations ....But, I suffered. And the fact that I suffered gives David pleasure. I suffered from all of my PTSD symptoms. I was derailed for two full weeks. Living in fear. Reliving all of the physical symptoms of what I survived.

So now you know that Pudendal Neuralgia was only one of the devastating horrors that I was battling. My father's psychotic depression, his string of suicide attempts and psychiatric hospitalizations, his terrifying fall into a catatonia-like state of being...

Must I say more? Because there is more to say. So much more to say and I no longer want to hide it. I want to share it. I want to express it. I want to write it. I want to accept it. I want to protect myself from it. And I no longer want to believe that by not expressing it, I am protecting myself. Because it isn't true. At all. By not expressing it I am  just stuffing it deeper and deeper into my psyche...setting myself up to be surprised and shocked when it comes creeping back up, out of the shadows one again seeking control over my life.

I don't believe in shame. I believe in transparency. I believe that with openness and with expression, comes healing. I no longer want to hide myself away for the sake of my family. I want to express and to create boldly and I want to share, to connect and to heal through my art. Too many of us are hiding our traumas in the closet. I want to live with that closet door open. Wide open.

It takes courage and I have earned my own courage.


Thursday, December 10, 2015

Wherever you are, i invoke you. Wherever you are, i am calling to you. I am requesting guidance. I am requesting help. I called out to both Lea and Gretchen. Both of them committed suicide due to Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder. Both of them were damn-brave women.

I went to the cemetery today. I like singing in the open space. I feel at home with all the spirits. I asked for their help too. 

I want to heal and I want to teach healing. How can I do this if I am constantly doubting myself, constantly thinking that I am not in place,....What place do i think i am supposed to reach? I don't know. 

There are so many of us that are suffering, so many of us are constantly on the verge of suicide. How can i maintain my own balance and still remain deeply connected to the suffering. How can i uplift and inspire others if i myself am broken. And whoever said that brokenness cannot lead or inspire or unite....

I am broke. I didn't write the n by mistake. I meant to write broken. But I can go with broke too :) I am broke and broken. That is a wonderful beginning, isn't it?

To be perpetually broken. Hello, what is your name? Oh, hello, my name is broken. 

I painted my oracle angel. I will add her to this post. I set up the circle with the candles and the rocks. I have gathered together a few of us. Lisa Roy. Lo Lo Kay. Tara Gillen. Trish Wolfe Mazeika. Donna Gendusa Boling and one more beautiful woman that is struggling whose name I will not mention. She preferred to stay anonymous. 

I bought white lilies.

Great. Really great. I just went to look at what lilies symbolize. Why am I not surprised by what I found. Part of me is just sick of it. I am sooooooo sick from all of the senseless suffering. The loss. Lea's suicide. I feel like she is a part of me. 

I bought the white lilies and i thought that i wanted to return them. I just didn't feel sure that i wanted them. But I decided to accept them. I decided that I will find out why I chose the white lilies, that it will make sense even if I feel like I don't really want them.

So here goes. This is what I just found: 

"As the flowers most often associated with funerals, lilies symbolize that the soul of the departed has received restored innocence after death."

Honestly, I am scared. I am scared of working so closely to death. Scared that I will lose my centre,...

I find it hard to find peace inside of me. I haven't been feeling peaceful. 

Funerals. Death. Suicides. A woman contacted me today asking me if i know who assisted Lea's medically assisted suicide. She wants to die also and she doesn't want to kill herself. 

No wonder I feel most at home in the cemetery. Isn't that where witches hang out. 

I am angry. I am so angry. I am so angry that we are being ignored. I just don't know what to do with this anger anymore. And I don't know what to do with all of this sadness. I feel helpless. I feel broken. I feel small and ...

And i have all of these ideas of what i want to do...but am i deluding myself, thinking that i can help, that i can strengthen, that i can offer faith and healing.....

when i myself am crushed by it all

Get on with it Atara. Just get on with it. Just try.