07/21/2026
Yes, it’s rather long, and if you are a skimmer I promise you’ll slow down, re-read, because some parts are beautiful (thank you Gemini) and ALL of it is true. I believe there are more than a few that need to know what happened to someone I love. We can change humanity. Stop laughing when you see or hear of a tasing. . I also need some more creators to paint, write, sew, weave, and put your flesh in the clay to end police brutality. If you have been tasered while being held down, or for ridiculous reasons by authorities (especially if you have a mental illness) this is a violation of civil and constitutional rights (1986). Immediately contact a local civil rights attorney to protect your rights. You should also file a misconduct report with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and contact the ACLU of Alabama (or your state)for regional legal assistance and advocacy. This is important as someone I love was the victim of a violent wreck just 3 months prior to the deadline to act on the department who attacked her. She thought no more about it as she dealt with pain and treatment for her injuries. Remember to have others (as in lawyers) research, as it has been found that the man who hit her is a volunteer member of a task force out of Albertville.
Her therapist for the PTSD -starting with the time she was tased by several deputies for refusing to sign a document -encourages her to paint out the pain and she doesn’t know how. Gemini was asked for help and provided beautifully written encouragement on how to; based on the real life description of what the perpetrators did to her. I’m sharing it in hopes that it will help many of you who have also had this happen to you or those you ❤️. Also, if we have some artists that can read it and help…her pain and depression has kept the art and creativity from coming.
ANATOMY OF THE STILLED MOMENT:
The feeling you described is a total systemic override—
—an erasure of the space between thought and action. To visualize this, you might consider shifting the focus from the external flash of the device to the internal landscape of the body during that seizure.
The Calcification of the Self: Rather than showing motion, focus on the stillness. You described the muscles turning to stone. You could represent this as a transition from fluid, human contours into rigid, jagged architecture. The body becomes a vessel that has suddenly become too heavy to inhabit.
The Internal Lightning: You mentioned the feeling of electricity coursing through you. In visual terms, this is often depicted not just as surface-level sparks, but as a fractured, glowing network that has hijacked the nervous system. Imagine the body as a silhouette or a transparent structure where the internal pathways—the nerves and organs—are illuminated by an invasive, unnatural light, highlighting the path of the current as it consumes the space inside.
The Dissonance of Control:
One of the most painful aspects of being held down while enduring a shock is the absolute loss of agency. In a painting, this could be represented through color temperature and weight—using heavy, oppressive tones (deep greys, cold blues, or bruised purples) to signify the weight of the individuals holding you, contrasted against the bright, violent intrusion of the electricity that is forcing your body into a static, agonizing pose.
Conceptualizing the Pain
When trying to translate this into a visual medium, you might experiment with these elements:
Fragmentation: Since the electricity disrupts the brain's ability to communicate with the body, perhaps the composition could feel "fractured." You might use sharp, angular brushstrokes or abrupt shifts in form to mimic the sudden "stone-like" rigidity you described.
Negative Space:
The feeling of being unable to move can be emphasized by the lack of "breathing room" in the composition. An image that feels claustrophobic—where the subject is tightly framed—can effectively communicate the lack of escape.
The Paradox of Light:
Because electricity is light, there is a visual paradox in using it to represent pain. Using brilliant, high-contrast light that looks beautiful on its own, but which creates a sense of dread when it intersects with the human form, might capture the way this trauma exists as an external force imposing itself on your internal world.
Art therapy is a powerful tool for externalizing what words fail to contain. If you feel comfortable sharing, has your therapist suggested working with specific mediums—like charcoal for the heavy, suffocating sensations, or bright, jarring watercolors for the electrical surges—to help externalize these memories? No, Justin’s mom paints but he is not so informed as to understand details to suggest. For the artists or those who have been hurt please message me. There is a final insult the body incurred. She could hear, and past the faded laughter and jokes such as “look she’s crappy flopping” the officers made -she could hear the scream of her son. Was he there somehow, behind the bars and couldn’t make this band of sadists stop? She swore it sounded just like D screaming “NOOOOOO!” With all of his heart. Then the sound of no blended into the other prisoners screaming for the deputies to stop. She remembered that when they walked her in that the man in the cell beside her had long brown hair and beard, his wool blanket covering his head and shoulders…a comforting thought ‘my savior is here’. Then everything went black.
Did I die? No, my underpants wouldn’t be wet in heaven, and the floor is cold and hard. The man is talking to me in a mean, fed up tone. What did I do wrong? His voice is garbled and I can’t understand. He gets next to my ear and screams “Do you want to go home?!” At this I begin trying to sit up saying yes, yes please. “Come sign this paper and we’ll let you go”. Anything, anything, yes I’ll even sign your chest just don’t hurt me any more. Don’t you know I’ve been beaten to a pulp once or twice a week for the past two years by a man I shouldn’t have married. A man who acted completely different in public than at home with me. Also an authoritative figure. An Air Force Sergeant. My addled mind thought he had caused all this because I divorced him. They pushed me out of the big steal door as some at the desk still laughed at my body movements while I got punished, and how I had to sign the paper anyway. The cool and dimming day took away the thoughts that I had probably disappointed MLK by giving into the torture and signing their paper…whatever it said. Then I looked further-My momma was there! She sat on the grass like some beautiful Irish fairy. She said “This is Jimmy’s fault”. Right then I prayed that my children or parents, or even Jimmy would never have to go through that, but by her haunted eyes I could see that somehow she did. The not knowing can be worse than the truth, and that’s why I write this. To D and your sibling(s) I never should have left. I changed God’s path and that’s what He did to me. When you said “You weren’t there when I needed you” I already knew. The horror and pain of that consequence await me in Hell, I’ve pushed it down every time the truth of our life starts to lead down that road. Y’all are my reason for living, my heart, and, my breath. You may have written me out of your lives and forgotten me, but I will still love you and live for you until my rotten death. 💋 Elle
