14

October 20, 2013

"14." 1/2/13. Calligraphy ink and sewing needle (tattoo). 1x2".
“14.” 1/2/13. Calligraphy ink and sewing needle (tattoo). 1×2″.

In early November, Alexis and I were “just friends” but it was obvious that something was going on. We walked into the room laughing, toward some empty chairs near Delia. “So when are you two going to get married?” she asked. “Pffft… What are you talking about? We’re just friends,” I said as we sat down. Alexis turned and whispered in my ear: “So… when are we going to get married?” I smiled. At this point, that kind of flirting was still a bit of a lapse in our usual insistence (even to one another) that this was a strictly platonic friendship. “Hmm…That’s a pretty serious commitment. I might need some time to think about it.”

A few minutes into the meeting, I motioned her in a little closer. “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I whispered in her ear, “We’re not allowed to be in relationships until we’ve had a year clean, right? So we can’t date until next August… Recovery: twelve steps, the last of which is “helping other addicts,” which is why – you know – the joke about fucking someone you meet in recovery is “the thirteenth step.” So – from that – you could say that the fourteenth step is getting married. So… 12, 13, 14: December 13th, 2014. By then, we’ll have known each other for two and a half years, in which we got our year clean, started dating, and then spent a year and a half together as a couple. 12-13-14.” I pulled back from her ear with a smile to see her reaction. She loved it. She looked giddy.

—–

In writing my statement / story for “Another Opportunity For Growth!!!,” I did some digging… I didn’t find what I was looking for, but I did find this conversation from a week after that story (and two months after the one at the start of this entry).

Texts: January 13th

Alexis: I love you. I wish we could communicate like before but I guess this is how It’s supposed to be. I’m sorry for being a shit but I’ve been working out my own demons. It isn’t easy on my own but I’m managing. Will I get to see you again?

Sam: You can see me pretty much anytime you want to.

A: That’s not true. I can’t leave the county. Have you talked to Tracy since you left [Tranquil Shores]?
[Tracy was my counselor, as well as hers]

S: I didn’t leave. I was just desperate to get you to open up. And I was hurt and angry – feeling like you had locked me out. Feeling unloved, neglected, and rejected. So I was probably trying to fuck with you a little bit. To get a reaction out of you and get you to call me back for once. I’m sorry for doing that.

A: So you didn’t leave? You LIED TO ME? Played mind games?

S: Yes. And not that there’s any excuse for it, but that’s what I felt like you were doing to me when you’d disappear for four days. Or lie to me and promise that you’d call me at a certain time and then ignore my calls and just text me a day later. But like I said, two wrongs don’t make a right. You’re going through your own shit, I’ve got my shit. So – yeah – I’m sorry. I was hurt and desperate to get you to talk to me.

A: This is what our relationship has become?

S: Lexi, I didn’t do this alone. You can’t put it all on me. You practically ended our relationship on New Year’s Eve when you disappeared all week and then refused to tell me anything about what’s going on.

A: What have you been going through?

S: There was this girl that I was totally crazy for. We met up one night and I told her how much I loved her. She told me how much she loved me and how she knew it was for real. And I was so happy. I couldn’t wait to see her again. We made plans for NYE but she never called me back. And then, when she did – days later – she wouldn’t tell me anything about what was going on. But I knew something serious was happening because she also stopped going to groups and seeing her counselor (who she had always seemed to love). I didn’t know what was up, but I was terrified for her. Because I loved her and cared about her so much. Even a week later, she was still being spotty and still wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I would have told her anything but she wouldn’t tell me even one thing. It got to be more than I could handle. It hurt too much, worrying about what this girl was going through and at the same time dealing with the pain of being locked out by someone that I had bared my soul to and opened up in a way I never had before.

S: That’s what I was going through.

A: I’m not dead, Sam.

S: I know you’re not dead. But there were a few days where I was afraid you might be. And I’m still scared that you might be mixed up in something dangerous. But I’m not letting it get to me.

A: I’m here for you. Always.

S: Kid, I love you to death, but you can’t say that. You’re NOT always there for me. You won’t ever answer my calls or call me and you only respond to my texts half the time. But that’s okay. I accept that.

A: So because you’re assuming everything, that’s how you want us to be?

S: No. I want us to be partners. But I can’t always get what I want, so I’m settling for being your friend. To whatever extent you’ll allow me to be.

S: If I could, I’d see you every day. But if all you want from me is the occasional text, I’ll take what I can get.

A: We did see each other every day. We had that. I want to hear from you daily and see  you.

S: Can I call you so we can talk for a minute?

A: Talk of what?

S: About whatever. I can just tell you about my weekend. I just like to hear your voice ’cause I miss you.

[no response]

S: If you don’t want to talk on the phone, that’s fine. You don’t have to stop texting me just to avoid it.

[no response]

S: Hey – by the way – did you see that picture of my Lexi tattoo?

A: What tattoo?

S: The ghost from the painting I made way back in October when I first started trying to figure out if I was in love with you or if I even knew what love was or if I was capable of loving someone. And – next to it – “14.” Because I did it on 1/2/13 (the same numbers in the same order as 12/13). So – you know – to complete the number: 12/13/14.

A: Where’d you tattoo it on your body? That’s seriously about me? Wow, Sammy.

S: It’s right above my right knee, in the only spot that I don’t ever patch on my jeans so that it’ll always show.

A: Where’s mine gonna be?

S: Wherever you want it to be. But you’d actually have to meet up with me to get it. Will I get to see you sometime this week?

A: Up until an hour ago, I thought you’ve been in Sarasota. I definitely crave and truly miss your energy. Why the ghost though?

S: In the painting?

A: Yeah.

S: This sound lame but (when I made it) it was because I felt possessed or haunted by doubt and uncertainty. And then (when I did the tattoo) – even though I didn’t doubt my feelings anymore and knew that I loved you – it made sense to reuse it. Not just because that was the first thing I painted about my feelings for you but also because I felt like you had disappeared. You were there one minute and gone the next. Like a ghost. Which was scary (like a ghost) because I thought you might be dead… like a ghost. And I was upset again – about something going on with us – just like i had been when I first painted it.

S: I miss you a ton, kid. I still think about you all the time. One of these days, you’ll have to let me come see you, or at least hear your voice. But it’s nice even just to text.

A: I’m laying in bed so I don’t sound cute right now. Sleepy and in pain.

S: You always sound cute but it’s okay if you don’t feel like talking. Sorry to hear you’re in pain. What hurts?

A: I pulled a muscle.

A: Think I may just be getting old.

S: Aw. I’m really sorry to hear that. I pulled a muscle in my arm that’s been hurting for a week now. Not bad though (sometimes not at all). I hope it feels better soon.

S: Yours, I mean. I hope YOURS feels better. Mine, I can manage.

A: Lol. You’re cute. We’re just linked and connected in some strange cosmic way I suppose. It feels good to talk to you. You make me feel at peace. It’s weird to explain.

S: You don’t have to explain a thing. Even if it’s just texting, you make me feel the same way. When I’m not losing my mind worried about you, you’re pretty much my favorite person on the planet.

S: And hopefully those days are done with. I’m gonna do my best to just hold it down and deal even if I can’t get in touch with you for days.

A: That’s where trust and faith come into play.

S: Yeah, you’re absolutely right.

A: Don’t lose your mind. And I couldn’t possibly be your favorite person. There are a lot more interesting people out there.

S: Well, you’ll have to introduce me to some of them then, I guess. I sure haven’t found them on my own.

A: Stop making me smile. It hurts.

S: So when I get my “vehicle” this week, you gonna let me come over and tattoo you?

A: What vehicle?

S: If I tell you, you promise not to make fun of me?

A: Yes.

S: I’m getting a scooter. I should have it by Sunday. Not exactly a car, but it’s a start. Plus, I can paint it and cover it in stickers and stuff, so it’ll be REALLY, REALLY PUNK.

A: I love it. Fucking adorable and so totally punk.

S: So does this mean I can scoot on over and draw something under your skin?

A: Yup!

A: I’m laying down now. It’s time I try to get back to a schedule of early bedtime, up early.

S: Okay, I should do the same.

A: I love you, Sammy. Sweet dreams.

S: Love you too, kid. Sleep tight.

—–

  • If you’re reading that and thinking, “Nobody writes messages like that,” you’re half right. Mine are unedited but she writes messages like a normal human being (without “proper” capitalization/punctuation, with typos, etc.); so I changed that when I typed this up for… um… uniformity? Otherwise, it’s pretty much a straight transcript.
  • When asked about this tattoo, I don’t usually mention the girl – only that the ghost is my emblem for borderline personality disorder (as it came from an expressive art piece created in the midst of an episode / incident of particularly strong “symptoms” – and used in later pieces when I was either experiencing or commenting on the same). Both explanations are equally true (and very much related).
  • The first thing about this conversation that jumps out at me is the way I was trying so hard to be okay with what was going on, when I should have just turned my back and ran. She wasn’t in a good place and I had “fallen down” with girls in situations just like this so many times.
  • Second: She says “That’s where trust and faith come into play” and I respond, “You’re absolutely right.” She was absolutely wrong insofar as she was suggesting that I should trust (and have faith in) her. And I knew that even then. But I chose to knowingly misunderstand her, which enabled me to agree with her. Because I did have trust and faith (or I was trying to have them anyway). Not in her – (she was obviously fucking up hard) – but in … everything, I guess. I was trying to believe that everything was happening exactly as it needed to (or – at the very least – the only way that it could happen). Whatever had happened so far, I was just hoping that she’d spin herself back into Tranquil Shores before shit got really bad.
  • But that didn’t happen. The night of December 30 remains the last time that I ever saw her.

Friday Afternoons Spent in Mental Health Treatment Facilities

October 17, 2013

"Friday Afternoons Spent in Mental Health Treatment Facilities." 2/16/13. Acrylics, resin sand, crow quill with gold ink, marker, and peptol-bismol on cardboard. 15½x4¼”.
“Friday Afternoons Spent in Mental Health Treatment Facilities.” 2/16/13. Acrylics, resin sand, crow quill with gold ink, marker, and peptol-bismol on cardboard. 15½x4¼”.

The sixth piece from “The Weak End” series. Says: “What you call success looks like success. It isn’t. It’s a lowering of the bar. And that’s my fucking chair.”

I’m going to try something different today. Normally, I force myself to keep the focus on myself. I force myself to not write about other people. I also force myself to look at what’s really going on when I’m upset. I think that (a lot of the time) this makes for good mental health and boring fucking reading. So, today, let’s try something different: here’s a rant’s worth of petty bullshit about total nonsense! (Followed by just a little bit of reflection).

—–

“Graduation” from Tranquil Shores (and plenty of other places like it) involves a ceremony called a “coining.” To coin out, you’ve gotta complete every item on your treatment plan. The coining is in recognition that you’ve done everything that’s been asked of you and proven your commitment to your emotional well-being and continued success. It’s a big deal.

Or so they fucking say.

I coined out last week. The number of people that came out to it and the things that they had to say [everyone in attendance at a coining speaks] left me humbled and speechless. And in all honesty, I didn’t think that I’d ever actually get there. I had been in treatment before but I had never not been kicked out. But even still – getting to coin out implies that there’s been a fundamental change from the person that you were when you checked in. It required a lot more than just not being so unbearable of an asshole that you’re actually forced to leave. Was I even capable of fundamental change? I had been a piece of shit for a long time and I had serious doubts. But something was different this time. I did change. I trudged through shit and hell long before I got here and I brought a lot of it with me so I could continue to step in shit even while I was here. It’s supposed to be a three month program but it took me seven – but that’s exactly how much time I needed; I couldn’t have gone any faster. What matters is that I did the work I was terrified to do and I got better. Actually getting to coin out meant a lot to me. It was the biggest fucking day of my life.

But this girl… They say that to coin-out you have to prove that you’re “willing to go to any lengths.” Less than a week after arriving, she decided that she wasn’t willing to do inpatient treatment. She’d stay but only if she could be an outpatient. That doesn’t sound like “any lengths” to me. And what was she here for? Her primary issue wasn’t with alcohol or drugs but with codependency. She was dating some guy that was also secretly dating other girls, telling each that she was the only one. And she had a stalking problem. So he’d lie about what he was doing, she’d spend hours following him around all day and night, find him going out with other girls and/or over to their homes, confront him, they’d have a huge blowout argument, make up, and then the same god damn thing would happen the very next day. Again and again. Even while she was in treatment! She continued to do this shit. That’s why she wanted to be outpatient, I’m sure. Throughout her time at Tranquil Shores, she was told consistently that this guy wasn’t healthy and that she couldn’t be healthy either so long as she stayed with him. Every now and again, she’d break it off but she’d always start stalking or dating him again (usually both). And now she’s getting to coin out – and today we found out that they’re a fucking couple again. Because she invited him to the fucking ceremony. That’s absolutely equivalent to if I had pulled out a needle and shot heroin at my coining. It was a giant “fuck you” to all of the counselors that have worked with her on this and even to all of us, who have sat in group after group with her, listening to her talk about how it’s destroyed her life. 

So why the fuck was this girl coining out? Because she put in three months? Big fucking deal. That’s how it works at a lot of other treatment centers but that’s not how it’s supposed to happen here. This cheapens the whole thing; it makes all the other coinings suddenly mean less. It’s like the time I spent studied like crazy for an exam that I knew we hadn’t really been prepared for. I got a 98% only to find out that since the second highest grade in the class was a 54%, everyone’s grade was getting bumped up by 46 points…. Except for mine of course – there’s no such thing as a 144%. So why the fuck did I bother to put all of that work in when these lazy dipshits that just show up and hope for the best get the same result?

And what the fuck, Matt? YOU KNOW THAT’S WHERE I ALWAYS SIT FOR ART GROUP.

—–

Okay… So I’ve struggled with how I wanted to present this piece for a long time because it is petty and it is childish and it is (in a sense) bullshit. Did I really feel that way about this situation? Yeah. Do I still have a hard time understanding why Tranquil Shores allows some people to coin out but not others? Totally. But does any of this have anything to do with me (or take away at all from my coining or my recovery)? Absolutely not.

Why did I put the work in? Because I fucking needed to to save my own life. Did we all get the same result? Of fucking course not! The coining is a ceremony to acknowledge the progress you’ve made –  just like a grade is an acknowledgement of the things you’ve learned. But the coining itself isn’t progress just as a grade isn’t itself knowledge. We may both get 100% on the test and we might both coin out; that shit (on its own) means nothing. What matters is what’s in my head, in my heart, and in my fucking guts.

As for what’s in your head, heart, and guts… well, that’s none of my fucking business. And I’m not really in a position to make any kind of estimation on the subject (tempting as it (clearly) is) anyway.

And I forgive you for sitting in my chair, Matt. I found another one.

—–

In the unlikely event that the girl who coined out after me reads this, please don’t get bummed out about it. I actually think you’re alright. This is just some eight month old shit about me being crazy.

—–

“The Weak End” paintings

Journal: October 12, 2013

October 12, 2013

Today was all across the emotional spectrum. I started out with a trip to Tranquil Shores. Even without knowing any of the current inpatient kids prior to my arrival today, there’s no place in the world that I can go and feel more welcome, accepted, appreciated, and loved. I didn’t get to see everyone that I would have liked, but I saw most of them. I was a little manic ’cause I didn’t have my Adderall before I went in but that’s okay.

Day one of this marathon wedding that we left Jacksonville for was okay (while I was still there anyway) but as the night went on, and especially after we left, I really started to appreciate just how much things like that fuck with me. It bums me out a little bit: I like to think that I’ve become this (relatively) well-adjusted human being but I just can’t quite hack it a lot of the time in that sort of environment. I’m just not myself; I feel stifled, uncomfortable, and bored. Back home – in my bubble – I’m free to do whatever I want. I get to engage all day long in creative sorts of projects. I’m able to express myself. I’m able to be (and feel) productive. When I leave the bubble and get thrown into a situation like a stranger’s wedding, I’m very much disengaged. I’m not expressing myself, I’m not achieving or accomplishing anything. I’m not productive. Sometimes I get a little overwhelmed with how “busy” I make myself; the standards I hold myself to can be a little much. But there’s a reason I make those choices and live that way. I need these things, these projects, these goals. I’m not the sort of person that can just “hang out.” I don’t like to be idle. I don’t like to feel idle. Which isn’t to say that I’m a total alien / socially awkward weirdo – I can hang out with friends every now and again, be social, and have fun – but … I don’t know … maybe I’m just not good with strangers. And it seems petty but in a situation like this where I’m “on my best behavior” and have to wear these clothes that I would never otherwise put on… I don’t know… I guess I unconsciously internalize this message that something about the way that I normally am (and even the way I normally dress) is somehow not okay – like I’m “not acceptable” as I am. I have be something else because what I am isn’t good enough.

And like I said, I know it’s petty – especially about the clothes. I know that it’s not about me or some personal inadequacy, it’s just about propriety. (Weddings are formal events so we wear formal clothes; it’s got nothing to do with me and I’m a nimrod for taking it personally on any level). And I don’t actually take it personally because I know better, but it still alters the way that I conduct myself; it still inhibits me. So I sit there trying to “be good” (or appropriate [or whatever]) and I just feel like some dead-eyed nothing.

I didn’t show that at all (or share it at all). I’m pretty sure that Heather and anyone else that spent any time around me would vouch that I was perfectly pleasant, sociable, and friendly. In the car after we left though, I just felt drained. And when Heather was somewhat unintentionally curt, a switch flipped in me and I was thoroughly unhappy. Even after she apologized and tried to comfort me, I just stayed stuck in my illness. And I was totally aware of it(!) but that did nothing to help bring me out of it. I didn’t lose my temper or have any sort of an episode but I just completely withdrew into my own head and stayed there – even more disengaged than I had felt back at the wedding dinner. I just kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me as I drove, acknowledging nothing, and soaking in the hateful punk songs that I chose as my soundtrack for the next hour.

I had a few errands to run, dropping off things to a few friends that I owed stuff to (a print, a shirt, etc) and – in seeing them – I was able to break out of my little funk. …Only to fall back into it when I realized that I failed to post anything to my website today. I knew how disappointed with myself that I’d be if I didn’t so I forced myself to pull over (after initially resisting Heather’s suggestion that I do so when I first realized that it was almost midnight) and I threw that photograph online (of the piece I made today at Tranquil Shores).

I felt a little bit better after doing that (emphasis on a little) but when we got to the Owens (where we’re staying tonight) and I talked to Don and Mclane, things sort of leveled out. Now I’m in bed, typing this, and I feel okay. Tonight was three hours of wedding though and tomorrow is gonna be closer to twelve. I’m gonna do my best to keep it together but I’m a little scared. I think I just need to remember to give myself little breaks here and there. To break away for a minute every so often to write something down or draw a little picture.

Do I wish I could be the kind of person who doesn’t need to think about things like this? Yeah, sure. But I do like being me too. (If only because I don’t know what it’s actually like to be anybody else). I think maybe that’s good enough.

Autobiography

October 1, 2013

"Autobiography." 9/30/13. Watercolor (with acrylic outline). 16x20" stretched canvas.
“Autobiography.” 9/30/13. Watercolor (with acrylic outline). 16×20″ stretched canvas.

When I was asked to consider how I present myself to the world, I was able to identify four different “roles” that I play. While all of them are genuine parts of who I am, what’s not genuine is how I’ll focus on (or “play up”) whichever will best suit me in some situation. These days, I try to be authentic but I (of course) still do it to some degree. We all do.

I like this cartoon a lot but—in all honesty—it’s kind of bullshit. I hardly ever put myself out there in such a way as to risk being rejected by a girl. I just thought this up one night because I knew it’d be cute and it’d fit well with my “wounded child / stray dog” persona that some girls seem to find so endearing and attractive.

As redundant as my art may be at times, it’s incredibly rare that I’ll make the same thing twice. This cartoon is one of those exceptions. Below are some journal excerpts that explain why I wanted to create this image again and [bonus!] paint a pretty good picture of a kid with low self-esteem, trying to solve his problems with female attention.

—–

Tranquil Shores Journal, November 16th, 2012:
Saw Kelly at the Church of the Isles meeting last night. First time since she bolted from Tranquil Shores. She came up to me and was really flirty. Lightly kicked me ‘cause I was sitting on a curb smoking a cigarette and then sat down next to me. I kicked it with her at the Fairwinds table. Or – rather – I sat down at a table and they all sat down with me. She didn’t sit next to me, but across from me (which I commented on). We made funny faces throughout the meeting, with occasional little comments. I drew a picture of Satan with the caption, “Anal Sex and Goat’s Blood,” and passed it across the table to her. She asked if she could keep it and then pointed out that the crumpled paper on the table (that she had thrown at me a little earlier) was actually a note. I uncrumpled it; it said, “You’re hot.” I gave her a look. After the meeting, we traded numbers. I’m looking forward to that. Though she does have a boyfriend, he just got arrested so I don’t think it’ll be an obstacle. Not that I want to date her anyway. I do think she’s cool, but she’s not ready to get better. They don’t get to keep their phones in Fairwinds but she gets out in eight days.

I broke up with Chelsea. She keeps going back and forth. Trying to be mean to me, begging me to still be with her, saying I used her, trying to pull me back in with sex appeal (“I want you in my bed right now; I want to have sex with you so bad”). It’s all over the place. For the time being, I blocked her on Facebook. I think it should stay that way so she’s not perpetually flipping her shit every time there’s any activity on my page.

Alexis coins out in three weeks. I’m not thrilled about that.

Met another girl at the meeting on Tuesday. Lilly. She’s from Lexington. I said I had some friends there. “Anybody I’d know?” I asked if she ever went to shows or was at all into punk. “Sort of.” Turns out while she didn’t know the kids I named, she is friends with Infected (that sorta-metal punk band on A.D.D.). Outstanding. [I don’t know those guys, but that’s close enough to my world]. She was cute. Not insanely hot, but definitely a cute girl. We talked for a long while before the meeting, while Alexis sat to my left feeling totally neglected (I’m sure) which I kind of enjoyed. I had done the same thing with/to her back when Kelly was at Tranquil Shores and it only got her to pay more attention to me. At one point, Lilly was fishing in her bag for something to show me that she thought I’d get a kick out of. She couldn’t find it and told me she’d show it to me “next time” so after the meeting, I asked for a pen and gave her my number and Facebook. She hasn’t hit me up yet, but it’s only been a couple days.

The property staff is out of town for some training seminar so the clinical and office staffs are filling in as our weekend babysitters. Should be fun.

Tracy came by and I played “Song For the Desperate” for her. She liked “parts of it.”
When she left, it was just Ashley and I. We talked about girls and boys and rehab romance and I told her about Jesse’s coin out and running into Kelly last night. I also tricked her into telling me how much Tranquil Shores pays her (and then pointed that out). It was fun talking to her. I think she’ll be a good counselor.

—–

Tranquil Shores Journal, December 6th, 2012:
Kelly never called but word is Fairwinds decided to hold her for another 30 [which means she still doesn’t have a phone]. For the first time since I saw her there, we went to Church of the Isles for our meeting tonight. I was looking forward to it all week ‘cause Fairwinds is always there on Thursdays. Until tonight… Maybe I’ll see her when we come back on the 20th.

Willa [who I met at Blind Pass recently] was at the meeting though, so maybe it’s for the best that Kelly wasn’t. I sat with her and pulled (what I guess is now) my “Church of the Isles” trick: I drew a picture and passed it to her. It was a fucked up looking kid offering a flower to a pretty (but disgusted or annoyed) looking girl, captioned “My Autobiography.” She said something nice but didn’t ask if she could keep it. But she did pass me a note with her phone number in it.

After the meeting, I went outside and sat on the curb to smoke a cigarette. Alexis came out and sat down next to me. I pulled the “My Autobiography” cartoon from my pocket and showed it to her. “Did you make this for me?” she asked. I froze for just a second and then nodded and smiled, “I did!” She was really into it. It’s funny how things play out sometimes.

—-

Journal, April 7th, 2013:
On top of everything else that happened yesterday, Alexis sent me a text. It’s gotten less and less frequent and I’m not sure why she even bothers at this point. It’s so pointless and she acts so oblivious. I tried to have a conversation with her and when that proved impossible, I just asked her to please send me a picture of my cartoon like she promised. It’s the one thing I’ve made that I don’t have a picture of. She told me when she moved out that she hung it next to her bed but I can never actually get her to send the picture. I think it’s because she knows it’s the one thing she’s got to keep me from ignoring her outright.

—–

Journal, June 21st, 2013:
Not that I expected her to show up this weekend [for the Tranquil Shores Alumni Reunion], but I just found out that Alexis violated her probation (again) and is almost certainly going to jail for the next decade or so. I saw it coming but it still… it’s just sad how fast she went from “shining star of recovery” to “totally fucked in the head and making all the wrong decisions.” We both let each other fuck us up a little bit but she was still my best friend for a while there—and I really thought she was going to do well. I really wanted her to do well.

In any case, it’s a safe bet that I’m never getting a picture of that cartoon. Is it fucked up for me to even think of that?

 

Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit

September 25, 2013

My counselor said I seemed different today. It wasn’t a change for the better. If I had to name it, I’d call it “Defeat.” I haven’t surrendered but there’s this bit of quiet resignation in me. I fight for myself but I think there’s a part of me that doesn’t actually believe I can win. I work toward my goals, I work for the life I want (everyday — and all day). But these goals may not be attainable. They’re as conceptual as my “belief” in a higher power. They are tools that keep me moving — they give me a reason to live, but they might not exist beyond that. My destination may be farther away than I’m able to travel in this lifetime.

"Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit." 4/16/13. Oil pastels, marker, pencil, pen. 6½x8½".

“Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit.” 4/16/13. Oil pastel, marker, pencil, pen. 6½x8½”.

I started this piece in February but struggled with it until it was finally finished in April. It seems appropriate here.

This entry is very much a continuation of its predecessor, earlier in the hour.

—–

This song is playing and I like it.

I’ve had an idea for a Crusades comic in my head for months now. Maybe I’ll actually draw it one day.

—–

Journal: September 25, 2013

I feel sick to my stomach but the problem is all in my head. Funny how that works, huh?

I remember when I used to directly address with total transparency whatever was crushing my fucking soul. These days, I don’t have the guts. I can’t handle the consequences.

This strikes me as the kind of shit someone writes or says when they’re relapsing. I’m not, but this is probably also the kind of shit someone writes *just before* they relapse.

Luckily, I know myself well enough to know two things. 1) If there were drugs right here, I’d be fucked; but immediate and effortless accessibility is a prerequisite for me to fuck up in that way. 2) I’m a fucking basketcase, overly invested in the present moment. So while I might feel like I’m in crisis right now – realistically – I’ll paint a fucking picture, go to bed, and tomorrow I’ll be manically happy about some stupid pop punk song and be okay until the next time something brings my regularly simmering gloom, shit, and misery to its boiling point.

I’m gonna go play with some fucking watercolors.

I don’t like this version of me. I don’t like that I allow things to affect me in this way. There have been moments when I’ve shown more strength than I am right now. I hate that I’m talking like this again. And so shortly after acknowledging and writing about the last time I found myself here.

Countdown to the feelings of shame, embarrassment, and regret consequent to writing this entry… 5, 4…

I have friends that call me when they’re in a rough spot. I have a lot of friends that turn to me when they’re struggling. But I don’t turn to anyone. I turn to the fucking internet. I don’t have the courage they have. Why am I better at being a comfort to others than I am to myself?

This song just came up on shuffle.

An F.Y.P cover by Off With Their Heads.

Journal: September 22, 2013

September 22, 2013

I was updating Storenvy listings when I found the original statement that I had written for “Out All Day” back in June but hadn’t included when I wrote my blog entry around it in early August. So I went back just now and worked it in.

In doing so, of course, I also read what I did write at that point: something about how I had sold a bunch of records and books that day but no artwork. And how I had some ideas as to why that might be, but that the reasons didn’t matter. That’d be true if it weren’t for the fact that I was afraid to acknowledge them. But I can now.

In early August, I was doing my best to be positive and upbeat but I think it was coming across in my art and my writing that all was not well. I had just wrapped with the shooting of “No Real Than You Are,” one of my first entries on this website was a painting detailing a relapse from earlier that day, and I think I looked a lot like a disaster waiting to happen.

I was used to a regular flow of feedback from posting my artwork on Facebook. When I got home to Jacksonville and launched this website in the last week of July, I half-suspected that I’d start to get more than ever (especially in light of the text content I was posting to accompany the art). That didn’t happen. Instead, my stream of feedback ceased almost entirely. After a week or so, I asked my friend David if he had any guesses as to why that might be. “I don’t think people know what to say,” he told me.

At the time, I thought that meant that the things I was putting up here were so earnest and vulnerable that they made people uncomfortable. There might be a little truth to that but, in hindsight, I think it’s mostly because I looked like I was about to fall – back into heroin, misery, and shit – and like I had no idea it was coming. If nothing else though, I know that my soul felt rotten and my strained optimism wasn’t hiding it. I had fallen apart to some extent – more than I was willing to let on (and I still haven’t talked about everything that happened with anyone other than my counselors and a few close friends). I’m sure I’ll eventually get to the point where I’m able to be as open about that period of time as I am about most of my life but – for now – I’m just happy that I pulled through it.

While Heather certainly deserves a lot of credit for my well-being overall, I think that – had it not been for Rational Anthem and the trip they took me on – things could have turned out much differently and much worse. I can say without any reservations that I’m really happy to be exactly where I am right now. – I’m really happy that I don’t have to remind myself to be grateful right now.

Granted, I was in a rough spot last night but those things happen. In fact, in that respect, tonight’s a lot like the night when I actually made “Out All Day” – just twenty four hours after the emotional turmoil that created “Blueprint for a Successful Evening.” I just hope that from here my next piece doesn’t turn out to be along the lines of the one that came next.

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