Work in Progress

Maandelijks archief van juni, 2015


his royal highness58


Its Sunday morning, the early rays of sun are filtered through the lace curtain. Ramon lies beside me, and is still fast asleep. Today the wind carries the morning wakeup call from the rooster from the park to our window. You can only hear it when all the other background noises are muted down because they too, are still fast asleep.

It is the time I love most of all the day. It is still so pure, and honest, and it is the time where I can stare and softly touch his skin without him knowing. After all these years I am still in aw with his handsomeness. I know every new gray hair, the sound of his breathing, every twitch of his face while he is dreaming. I still have to pinch myself when I am at this moment.

This is the most beautiful person to me, in the whole wide world. And I love that in this pure and honest moment, his body reacts to my touch, even though he is fast asleep, and he pulls me tight when my hand brushes against the lines of his skin. The gentle but sturdy pull you feel when you are loved by the other person. I always have to sprinkle him with little butterfly kisses, so I won’t break the silent moment of this strong emotion between two souls that are so intertwined with each other.

That is what we are. Intertwined. Not what my second therapist accused us of. A doctor/patient relationship, that was unhealthy and had to stop. I was so hurt by her statement, and made me doubt our bond together. She made me doubt many more things about myself, but that was something I needed at that time, to get stronger in my own believes I think. And now I really know she was only mistaken in her words, by only seeing it from her professional point of view. But I would rather call it the deep and purest form of love. The kind of love, where you respect one-another, be strong when the other needs it, and can show weakness when there is the need for, and stimulate each other, to be best that they can possibly be, so you can be the most beautiful soul that makes you glow from the inside out. And that is what I believe, the light that people see in ones eyes.

So this beautiful Sunday morning, I again, gaze at his face. I softly brush his hair sideways, and follow the line of his strong eyebrow. I can’t wait to start the day with him, but first I snuggle a little bit closer to him, close my eyes, and draw his handsome face with my finger in the air. And with a smile I know, that I know every line of his beautiful face.



little pond


A long long time ago, a little goldfish called Bruce was born in a cosy little pond that was owned by an old woman. This old woman loved her little pond, and she nurtured it with care. Every day she stood near the waterside and threw some fish flakes into the water. She knew they could find their own food, but she liked to spoil her fish from time to time. There were lots of fish that lived in the pond. All sorts and kinds. And little Bruce loved it there.

the Goldfish family

But after a long while, the old lady didn’t come by the pond any more. And thus the delicious food flakes as well. So the fish had to swim to surface to see if there was any food. And it killed them one by one. Because there were vicious predators who liked to catch them for lunch. So little Bruce his mama and papa Goldfish told Bruce to never go up to the surface. Always stay near the ground and find bits and pieces to eat there. But soon there wasn’t enough for all the fish that was left, even mama and papa Goldfish had to go to the surface to find food there. And that is how Bruce eventually was the only fish left in the pond.


He listened well to his parents, and never left the deeper parts of the pond. All though he had to eat strange things, that is how he could survive for many years. When the old lady was never to come back to her little pond, the pond was left to dry. And Bruce almost gave up on live. He struggled to stay alive in the tiny bit of water left, and when winter came, the mud was so near the surface, that it began to freeze. And little Bruce got colder and colder. Even his water bubble couldn’t stay whole due to the ice. So when it became so dark and cold, and he heard the cracking from his water bubble, he was ready to die.

red bucket

But then something happened. A big piece of frozen mud was shovelled in to a bucket. And in that piece of frozen mud, happened to be Bruce. Water was poured in to the bucket. It was nice and warm, and the ice started to melt. Bruce was in shock, but when he started feeling his fins again, he waggled his tail and shook his head, and all the frozen mud came loose. He could see humans staring into the bucket, but it wasn’t the old lady. Was this a rescue or were these the vicious predators, and were they  going to eat him?


He was glad to be able to swim again, and when he was poured into a glass bowl, he still wasn’t sure if this was a rescue. Because he couldn’t move. He could only go up and down. Was this some kind of special preparation before he would be lunch?

new home

But the next day, he knew. He knew he was rescued, and that he was safe. The people put him in a larger fish tank, with plants and bridges, and pebbles where he could shuffle through. And he could finally take off his water bubble, because the water was good, and little oxygen bubbles danced up and down. And the best part of it all was, every morning a new red-headed lady scattered food flakes in to the water and talked to him throughout the day. And for the first time in a long time, he felt he was loved again.



Note to story.

Now that the story is out, it explains his alter ego. Due to the strange things he had to eat to survive, and the lack of oxygen left in his water bubble after it cracked, he became a little Hulk. It only happens when he feels strong emotions, and it doesn’t stay long. Which is a good thing, because little Hulk smash things around like crazy. It is a rare sight to be seen, but I managed to capture the moment where Bruce his alter ego emerged. So this something special I have for you to see,

Bruce and his alter ego, little Hulk.


The rocking chair




I often use this drawing to send to friends and family as a congratulation card for either pregnancy or childbirth. To me it presents just that, although the making of this drawing symbolize my grief.

My father once took this rocking chair from the side of the street. It was ready for the dumpster. It only needed a good painter to make it as new, and I always wanted a rocking chair for when Ramon and I would have a baby. My father knew that, so he gave it to me. I painted it as smooth as a baby’s bum, no brushstrokes visible. I upholstered it so when I would sit by its bed, I could sit comfy for the hours I imagined, watching our little bundle of joy. With a one haired brush I painted a tiny logo for a finishing touch, and every time I sat on the chair, I slowly cradled my hopes and dreams.

So when we learned that we couldn’t have children, on top of everything else we had to digest at that time, I only wanted to sit and cradle my grief with big silent tears in the middle of the night. It wasn’t until Kuzco, that I could fully enjoy the chair for just what it was, a chair. And I didn’t mind it anymore that is was used as such.

Now when I look at the chair, I feel happy. I made some good memories while rocking that chair. My little puppy needed rocking too, and I could still hum my lullabies to someone falling asleep on my lap. And I could still sit comfy for hours, watching our puppy making his cute little barks and twitches while he dreams.


sleeping puppy Kuzco



Maybe if you have seen my early works under the Art tab, you would have guessed I had therapy, or are relieved to hear I did. And I am so grateful I did, even though at that time my seizures were still about 60 to a 100 a day, and being there 10 hours a day, 5 days a week, felt almost impossible to go through. Looking back, I amaze myself I pulled through, and even manage to learn so much.

I followed group sessions, one on one sessions, woman-counselling, cognitive therapy, EMDR therapy, had to participate in team sports, and like school, I always chosen last… wonder why this time. No one ever wanted me to be their trust buddy either, where they had to trust you, you would catch them, if they let their self fall backward. Strange, right?

Followed some sort of “art” class, and one of my all-time favourite, music. Where you had to make a lot of noise with your instrument of choice. Picture yourself with the greatest hangover, or if you suffer any form of headache, in a room full of deeply emotional disturbed people, letting go their feelings all together at once by banging their instrument as loud as they feel to. How would you feel?


Well, let me tell you that I always chose the smallest cowbells around, and during the music session I ended up picturing all my fellow disturbed people staked to the ceiling with parts of their instrument through their stomach. Yes, I had some anger issues.

After a year Ramon managed to convince the doctors there, music and running and jumping sports is a no go for someone suffering 24/7 intense headache with multiple seizures. The therapists of the mental institution were convinced my seizures were a result of not coping well with my emotions, so they never took them serious enough as they were. It was a cry for attention that should be ignored, and they thought it was even a good therapy for every other “nutcase” walking around there, to either help or ignore while I lay on the ground during a seizure when we had to walk on the compound from one building to the other.

Even though I didn’t always understand their work method, in the end, it all thought me a lot. It helped me to stand up for myself, set boundaries, recognize my strange quirky behaviour as a means to survive, and managed to do something about it. Learned to be me.

The only thing with working on your mind-set and all the other stuff that comes along with it, is that you are never done, never finished. And that’s something I can be discouraged about sometimes.

Just when you think you get it, something happens where you just reach for that old, and once so comfy coat. The only difference is, now I see, feel and hear my old ways of handling situations, so I sit, read back my cognitive therapy papers, and once again teach myself how to do better next time. That old coat has lost its comfy fit anyway, so even if I wanted to stay in my old coat, I could never. I’ve learned too much to know how much fun it is being me. The new me, even though it takes endless time of learning.





‘How long have you been sitting here Dante?’ Grandpa asked as he sat down next to Dante on a bench.

Making a deep wrinkle with his brows, Dante sighed. ‘A long while. Too long a while even. The fish won’t bite.’




He pulled his rod he made from a twig backwards and threw his line out in the water again.

‘Maybe you’ve caught all the fish from the pond, and there is nothing left any more.’ Grandpa looked at the bucket standing next to the bench full of little fish.




‘Nope, that’s not it at all Grandpa. Last week I went fishing with Ramon, and that was totally bad ass. We went fishing for the biggest fish in the world. We had to go to the store to buy a suitable rod, and squirmy little things in a jar called bait. It was so gross, but it was necessary to get the job done.’


box of maggots


‘Wow Dante, how did it go? Did you caught the biggest fish of the world?’

‘Off course I did! That’s why the fish don’t want to bite any more. They are scared of me, because I have mastered the biggest fish. He probably showed all the smaller fish his scar on his lip. That was where the hook went through. I had to set him free, but that wasn’t easy, because he was mad he took the bait. He popped into the water when he felt it tickling under his belly when I held him near the water.’


big fish


‘That’s amazing Dante! I can imagine all the fish are scared of you. But maybe if you say sorry to the fish, and wish them better luck next time, then just maybe they will try to catch your bait.’ Grandpa padded him on his back.

And just when Dante yelled ‘Sorry fishies!’ something pulled his fishing line. And what do you know, a fish took his bait. ‘Yay Grandpa, you are right!! I will always say sorry to the fish, and treat them with the best bait. Now I really am the best fisherman there is.’




And with a big smile on his face, Dante leaned back and took a big bite of the sandwich grandpa brought him.


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Joyce Kleine – Work in Progress