Honesty

One of the curiouser things I experienced following the injury to my left arm was the reconnection to what is actually my preferred hand. I'm a lefty who was forced into being a righty.  So when the injury happened everyone said, "Oh good, well you already know how to use the right arm, bet you're glad we made you switch when you were younger after all now, huh?"    Not exactly.  Actually, as a result of the injury, physical therapists made me communicate with a limb that had been shunned and ignored and injured irreparably, but had always been the true me.  In rediscovering this arm through therapy, I kind of rediscovered myself.

The drawing above was done with my left hand, which has very low grip, and with a stick.  It's messy. And maybe it looks like shit, but I was feeling like shit when I drew it so if anything...it's damned spot on. The reason I love it is because the left hand has always done a better job of conveying my emotions than the right even if it's not as pretty. It's the honest hand.  And it was more than happy to help me to let go through it all the things I could never really say.