It’s amazing how a little (well, a lot) of meditation, contemplation, encouragement, and sympathy can shed some light into the darkness that is my mind these days. Thanks frenz.
Last week was “I’m done, the fight isn’t worth it, how could I die without hurting all the people I love?”
This week: “I’m much, much braver, stronger and more resilient than I had believed was possible.”
I hope it lasts. 
Cuddlywhiskers: “Sometimes you need to take responsibility for your own happiness.”
Diane: “You don’t think that’s a little selfish?”
Cuddlywhiskers: “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m happy for the first time in my life, and I’m not going to feel bad about it. It takes a long time to realize how truly miserable you are, and even longer to see that it doesn’t have to be that way. Only after you give up everything can you begin to find a way to be happy.”
(From Bojack Horseman)
Fuck this life. Fuck this life. Fuck this life.
It’s been one of those days… weeks… months.. Years where I honestly frequently wish I could just opt out. Not participate. Not live. The effort it takes to keep going is more than I can muster so many days. I feel like I’m just
Well, instead of sketching, or paining, or even writing, I ended up sleeping for hours. At least now, when I fall asleep at an unreasonably early hour, I don’t end up sleeping until morning. I woke up at 3AM feeling well rested and had to read for a while before I could fall back asleep. That’s an encouraging sign that I don’t actually NEED the 10-12 hours of sleep I had been getting.
I’m continuing to struggle with finding inspiration to start any of the projects I had envisioned. I’ve collected the pieces for the jewelry, I’ve purchased the paints and canvasses and brushes for painting, I’ve splurged on interestingly covered journals for writing, and I’ve filled my apartment with frames and sheets of matboard. Yet it all sits untouched.
I used to be able to just draw and draw and draw without even pausing, really. Inspiration? It was always there. Perhaps most of what I ended up drawing or painting or sewing wasn’t that original, but the ideas never ceased to flow. I wonder to what extent this is a side effect of my medications. How much is my personality and mind being suppressed? Not a question I’ll likely find an answer to soon, as normally my doctors’ opinions are to add more medications, not take away.
My mind just feels…. Stuck. No ideas come out. No words even, right now. It just feels like a ball of tangled yarn.
Father’s day is tomorrow. Normally I don’t post anything of my own, but I like my family members’ posts (without commenting, but still, I acknowledge. And my silence feels like consent). Not this year. I resent that I have to be in a position to forgive him for such atrocious actions and such callous attitude towards me. I resent it because I’m not sure he was sorry for his behavior during his life, only worried that he’d be found out.
Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if I’d been consciously aware of what was going on and had been able to tell someone and stop him. If he’d gone to jail. We would have had to move — mom wouldn’t have been able to afford the house on her own. I would have wanted to move. Not only was that place a source of anxiety and negative memories, there’s no way I would have been able to stand going to school with people who knew what had happened to me. We would have ended up moving in with my mom’s parents. My grandmother would have been really emotionally and energetically…. Challenging. I don’t know how I would have survived that either. Is this really the family I picked? I can’t imagine consciously deciding I needed to experience these horrible events and that this was the family I needed to have. Perhaps I knew I’d get good siblings out of the arrangement, but that almost doesn’t seem reason enough to have picked this.
A couple of years ago one of my friends said something that immediately felt true (even though I felt guilty too) — that my life would be better, freer, after both parents were gone. He meant this in the sense that I would no longer have to be concerned with appearances, wouldn’t feel obligated to feign interest in religion, and could drift away from extended family. Now I realize it’s not that simple. My siblings are only becoming more and more religious and latching onto the ideas my parents put into their minds, and the legacy of the abuse will outlive my mother.
Why is it such a struggle to put my thoughts down onto “paper”? Am I that afraid of them? Am I running from my emotions that easily? I guess I am. I need to admit that I am really down in the dumps again, that I don’t have the motivation to try to fix anything in my life right now, that if given a choice I would just stay in bed all the time. I don’t know what to do to fix this. There used to be ideas, activities, for which I’d feel a spark of interest. That spark is gone. Everything feels like a chore. Lately even eating feels like an obligation. You’d think that would have me losing weight, at least, but the opposite is true. It feels like I am holding everything in me.
I did a quick tarot reading and pulled two runes today and both referred to having a healthy sex life. Whaaaat? How is that even possible? I never meet anyone. I feel very set in my ways of not meeting anyone. I don’t want to end up alone forever, not really, but when I SEE myself in the future I am alone. What a solitary, lonely life I am leading and am intending to lead. Do I really believe I don’t deserve to be loved? To be made love to? To make love to someone else? I can’t believe that. I don’t deserve to be punished for HIS sins.
I am living what he told me I’d live. Letting no one love me. I know he meant it to be hurtful and never really believed that no one would love me, but I’ve taken that to heart and am living it. How can I break this cycle? How can I stop poisoning my body and leaving it to rot? How can I be happy with the way I look and feel again? How can I believe that there is someone out there, perhaps many someones, who’d be able to love me? How can I even approach dating or sex with these memories always in my mind?
What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me? Everything. Nothing. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t. Why do I feel so broken? Intellectually I don’t really believe I am, but emotionally…. Whew. It’s as if I am living as two different selves.
Today, I made my first attempt at “morning pages” (an exercise from The Artist’s Way). I’m planning to do these for at least twelve weeks in an effort to “unstick” myself creatively and otherwise.
I’ve long missed having creative pursuits within my life. It seems for the past fifteen years, I’ve only made time for isolated projects — a Halloween costume there, picking out colors to redecorate here. I’ve made occasional efforts to sketch, only to find myself drained of creativity and unable to access any talents. I’ve been content to just “come home” (or move from desk to bed) and watch hours of Netflix or passively hit refresh on Facebook. I haven’t even kept up with my reading which was always theinterest I felt defined me. Well, reading and music.
I can tell that I am still depressed not by the days when I feel very low but by the rest of the days when I feel little of anything. I haven’t listened to music in weeks. I have no longer been motivated to try anything new, whether an album or a TV show. I’m re-watching the same shows I already watched in the last few years. What’s strange is I don’t remember seeing the episodes, though I know I did.
I feel even less motivation to write. Every few sentences, I find myself distracted, checking Facebook or email or just staring off into space. I haven’t felt engaged in a long time. Part of this is the lack of engagement at work, which destroys my morale.
When I found out I would be getting laid off, after the initial shock and worry quickly wore off, I began planning my new life, one that didn’t bind me to a computer for set hours each day. I dreamed of finally doing something artistic as a business pursuit. In fact, I didn’t just dream — I dove in, setting up a business license, PO box, and a website. I bought supplies to craft — jewelry making, clothing making, photography. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars were spent intending to set up a productive business. Months later, I sit at my desk surrounded by this clutter and feel no motivation to begin. It’s more than that really — I fear I have no ideas, or at least no original ideas, no ideas that others would want to buy.
Something as simple as watching some YouTube tutorials for the type of jewelry making I want to do…. has taken me three months to even consider watching. To even start looking for and queueing up playlists, not even to watch. Is this just my fear of failure at work? Or is it something deeper? I know doing these projects would be enjoyable, even if they don’t result in something I feel I can sell. Why am I so unmotivated? Why do I not even want to do things I have previously enjoyed?
Worse, I have turned every potential project, every potential way to make money into a way to spend money. Rather than making some basic jewelry, I’ve accumulated hundreds of dollars of crystals and stones that I may or may not ever use. I’ve acquired more painting supplies than I could use in years (if I were to actually paint). Each time I consider artistic work, I find something to spend money on instead. Instead of learning how to use my camera or Adobe products, I almost bought Ultra Fractal. It looks cool – don’t get me wrong – I want to buy it some day, but today if purchased, it would become another thing I never used. Instead of trying a basic cross stitch sampler or one of the patterns I’ve purchased, I wanted to buy a cross stitch pattern making program. Another thing I would probably never use. Just like my old camera. Just like my knitting pattern making program. Just like the thousands of dollars of yarn and fabric I ended up donating when I left San Francisco. I think I am still reeling from the loss of so many supplies (and knowing I wasted so much money). Yet I keep doing it.
What would it take for me to begin being creative again? I am starting with my environment. For at least 12 years, I lived with nothing on the walls, no art, no objects. In San Francisco, it was tolerable because the walls were (mostly) brightly colored themselves. Gold encrusted brown in the living room, “lilac lavender” in the bedroom, sunny yellow in the laundry room, pink tiles in the bathroom. The rooms I frequented had vibrant color and it made the lack of art less noticeable. Here in beige Bothell, that lack is noticed. It’s gotten to me. So now I am putting up Art in an effort to make myself want more “art” in my life. Heidi has encouraged me to use my own photographs as artwork, so I’ve begun. It feels a bit false to me, like I’m not really hanging artwork at all, but I’ve proceeded nonetheless.
Only a week ago, I was finishing my Psychology course, the first college course I’ve completed in years and the first of several I must finish in order to be eligible to apply for grad schools. Making art or crafts of some type was intended to be a source of income while I attend school, and it occurs to me that I would have to treat it like school or a job in terms of making the commitment and the time. I was miserable within my course schedule, I felt like all my time was booked, but I was able to do it.
So perhaps it’s time to make that commitment to myself and to my art.
I won’t force myself to work on something I am not able to work on, but I can make myself spend the time on Art. Whether that is framing and hanging art, sketching ideas, watching tutorials, or creating… that will be up to me, myself and I on the days in question. I will also give myself the time to write these pages each morning — if not before work, early in the day. I will also give myself time to meditate on creativity and feeling protected and encouraged to produce creatively.
Due to our work’s “Flexible Fridays” program, I’ll be off work by 10AM on Friday. I need to get my allergy shot and can spend some time reading while waiting the requisite time. But, after I get home, there is a lot of time open for projects. I’d like to accomplish some goals before Friday, to remove excuses from having an extended “art date.” On Wednesday and Thursday, I want to cut mats and frame the art that is on my couch — the art for my bedroom. By Friday morning, I should be ready to put up pictures of San Francisco, Paris, Granada. I can be inspired by the places I’ve been and the artistry I saw in these landscapes and buildings. I can be inspired by the beautiful photographs I took in these cities. I can be inspired by my “garden” just feet outside on the patio.
On Friday, weather permitting, I’m going to draw or paint outside for at least an hour. After that is done, I’m going to watch or read tutorials and practice wire wrapping basics. I’m kind of afraid to even try either of these things, but I’m going to do it. If my efforts go miserably, what have I wasted other than a few hours and a bit of supplies?
Addendum: obviously I did not follow through on any of this. :/
…When you are meditating and working on knots deep in your body and feel the eeriest feeling of something slithering away inside you. I’m going to tell myself that’s chi moving and not some kind of parasite.
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