r/Artisticallyill

This piece is about reclaiming who I am without her, and saying it out loud through art.

I made this piece in about 30 minutes, it's about my mom and my relationship with her. When I came out to her as a boy (I'm nonbinary now) her abuse worsened because I wasn't growing up to who she thought I'd be. I later became disabled, and it got worse, and yeah.

I'm still living with her, still trans, still disabled, and I'm about to go on Testosterone. I love myself, and I love that I dont belong to her, and that that is my choice.

Symbolism:

Dog (in general): Dehumanization through how she treats/treated me

Borzoi body: Vunurablility, sensitivity and yet very expressive and artistic.

Czechoslovakian Wolfdog: Defense, strength, fighting back and not shying down about who I am.

Dog body language (defensive, playful, scared, in pain): This is so complicated. I'm playful at heart, but when I made the dog display a defenseful position it's because of the way I'm rebelling through art. But I'm hurt, and scared, truly. This trauma seeps deep, unfortunately.

Wings: Growth! I'm myself, despite everything. I'm going on T soon, I'm moving out, getting my driver's license! I love myself, and I'm becoming free :)

The colors have no symbolism, I just though they were pretty and powerful!

Thank you so much for looking at/appreciating my art! It's a bit scary sharing it on my internet lol.

There is a quiet kind of strength that rarely gets celebrated; the kind that wakes up every morning in a body that hurts, stitches itself back together, and keeps moving anyway.

"Stitched to Survive" is a reflection of chronic illness, invisible battles, and the resilience forged through hardship. Its patchwork body is a visual diary of healing that is never quite finished. Every stitch represents a repair, every scar a chapter, every missing piece a reminder that survival doesn't always mean returning to who you once were. Sometimes survival means learning to live as someone entirely new.

The fierce expression isn't born from anger, but determination. It stands as a testament to those who continue to exist despite pain, grief, disability, trauma, or circumstances that threaten to unravel them. Strength isn't the absence of suffering; it's choosing to endure, even when you're held together by thread.

This piece is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt patched together by necessity. It honors the beauty of persistence and reminds us that being stitched together doesn't make us fragile. It is proof that we are still here.

Framed in a black 5in x 7in frame and created with prismacolor colored pencils, micron pen, and silver acrylic paint pen, this mixed-media piece is accented with scraps of t-shirt fabric hand-stitched directly into the piece. The physical stitches are more than embellishment; they are part of the narrative, transforming scraps into something whole again.

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I am struggling lately. I was finally diagnosed with autism at 34 in 2025, and the truth is that I knew I was for years, I just didn't have the paperwork.

I have tried combating my anxiety with a new job in an animal lab that I had to quit in 3 months because I was miserable, and right after I was let go from a different seasonal job with plants that I actually enjoyed because the green house ended its contract with the store I worked at.

It's always been difficult to find work I can manage, especially in a small town, so it stings and feels alienating to "lose" when you really try to work hard.

I've been on a journey to go to art school in the city (my dream since I was a teen) but I still have a lot of hurdles to cross, especially financially. Even with scholarships/financial aid, art school is shockingly expensive and I was born into and have lived below the poverty line for majority of my life.

I am so grateful to live in subsidized housing for the disabled and elderly, but it comes with caveats like constantly battling off bed bugs and roaches. (10 years of using diatomaceous earth and Cimexa to fight for my sanity) Also, there is a federal law that says you can't live in subsidized housing and be a full time student, you can only be part time, which limits your ability to get scholarships and grants that require full time status - laws like this make it harder to escape poverty.

I exited a long distance abusive relationship (he would call me racial slurs and be cruel when drunk, actually he was just cruel in general) in 2024 only to immediately enter another relationship that is frankly stressing me out.

I love him and he has helped me in many ways, but again, I have naively fallen for a person who has a multitude of cracks and I have told him he has darkness within. It's like I'm addicted to euphoria and pain. I know it's not my duty to mend him like kintsugi and yet I feel compelled to stay. But I want healing, too, I want to shimmer even though I'm fragile.

Someday I hope to be able to thrive as a neurodivergent person without so much sadness and mental turbulence.

Almost done, but ran out of beads. And I need to finish the eyes. Almost done for a trade in another sub for a gorgeous suncatcher.

Last year, I had to rescue my grandmother from my parents' home.

She's my father's mother and lived with us from the time I was 2 years old. I'm 26 now.

My parents are hoarders, and my grandmother had become one too while living there. For her 79th birthday, I offered to clean her room. The smell of urine was so overwhelming it had been setting off the smoke alarm, so my parents disconnected it. She hadn't had sheets on her bed in at least a year. The mattress was heavily soiled, and the insect infestations were everywhere. After 16 hours over two days, her room was finally livable.

A few months later, with help from my godmother, we took her to the ER. She's diabetic with hypertension. She had access to her medications and insulin but wasn't taking them and wasn't receiving any support. Her blood pressure was 225/112. Her blood sugar was 398. Had she stayed in that house, she likely wouldn't have survived another year.

From cleaning her room to getting her into assisted living, I had to file three Adult Protective Services reports against my own parents.

My parents had always been the center of my world. I had already started pulling away from them, but everything changed when they actively interfered with my attempts to move my grandmother somewhere safe. They complained about losing the rent she paid them. They told me they were waiting for her to either trip and die in the house or end up hospitalized so she'd become someone else's problem.

That's when I realized there was no going back.

I became my grandmother's power of attorney—not because I wanted to, but because someone had to. I bathed her three times a week, attended care meetings, completed mountains of paperwork, managed her finances, worked with government agencies, and somehow figured out how to afford a $3,500-per-month assisted living facility, all while running my own service-based small business.

At the same time, my therapist left, and every one of my close friends moved across the country. My husband became my entire support system.

There were so many voices. People telling me I was doing the right thing while others insisted I was tearing the family apart. Every new revelation about my childhood reshaped my understanding of the people who raised me. My entire worldview fractured, and I felt impossibly small.

But I saved her.

She has since been diagnosed with dementia. She's properly medicated, well-fed, clean, safe, and I can finally sleep knowing she isn't suffering alone.

I don't draw nearly as often as I did growing up, but I needed somewhere for everything to go. I made this after the immediate crisis had settled, when I finally had to confront what this experience meant for my relationship with the rest of my family.

For anyone wondering, I'm now low/no contact with both of my parents.

Analog collage work about maladaptive daydreaming & dissociation.

Me externally:

I hide all my scars with long sweaters or dresses.

I at least try to look happy so i don't make anyone mad.

I'm drowning in medications.

Sedatives don't help.

I look insane and stupid visually.

I'm going in circles and the loop never ends.

Me internally:

Rape scars still haven't healed.

I feel so sore all the time.

I feel so scared.

I'm told my body is inherently obcene.

This is what people think I look like.

My shoulders make me a whore?

My clothes make me a slut?

My brain is just... static.

I always stare off into space but I'm told I look stupid.

I'm told I'm "ripe" and "breedable" because I'm 18.

Hopefully it inspires someone to just go and draw like a child and experiment

Originally meant to be a few pictures but I decided to take it a little further. Thanks for lookin.

y won't u believe me. </3

⟡ PTSD. 𑣲⋆Childhood trauma. ⋆ .✦ Cassies curse. ✦⟡ ⊹Childhood ptsd.⊹

(this comic is ongoing 𖹭.ᐟ) [more from this artist on tiktok and IG]

edit: Linked pages.

The text is from a book that i was just reading. Sadly relating to the main character too much, so i drew something.

This was a work reflecting living as late diagnosed autistic.

he's having fun, even with his neutral expression :) like me!!

Usually kundalini awakenings start at the base of the spine, but mine came from above. I also have scoliosis so I think I had major energy blockages that needed clearing.