I am tired of being well.  I am not sure this trade-off was worth it since my body feels horrible despite my best efforts at HEALTH. The world is poisoned, I have little faith in diet and exercise and all that jazz. All that jazz, all that jazzmine, gardenia, wysteria and hydrangea.  That is what I need, a sea of scents and soft light to carry me away. That is mostly what I think about lately...I am plotting an escape. Not sure how or what from or where to but I am. Something has to change. In a way that does not involve giving up.

Criterion

So I had this art show at a restaurant and it turned out pretty well. I sold things cheaper than I should have,but i needed to make room for more. Needed to clear some out. And all the people that go where I go are usually poor. Most of the people that I want to own my work are probably poor. Ha. Anyway i had to quickly finish some stuff and got kind of manic and crazy and it was great.

I'm drawing at work now. Little sticky note canvas. I see paintings in the woodgrain and the streaked windows. I stare and hings turn and morph into drippy paint. It is pretty fabulous. I neglected my precious pretend brain for so long it went to bed. That is how this city is. you have to pay attention to it. to the real world. In the small forest towns I  lived in before you can walk around in a dream world, half imagining you are something else all the time. Its not like that anymore. It is not like that here. It takes guts to live here. Like literally, the city may take your guts, or whatever it is about yourself that you love.

Things change. I do things the hard way. I learn things the hard way. It's okay. I am going to see my parents this weekend, to see Spring and the new puppies and the new calves and all the blooming things. And my lovely parents and their twinkling eyes and now wrinkling skin.  The extra hour of daylight plus longer days is just food for my spirit. Well, that and the Floradix Iron Supplement. Today is actually a good day, one of those days where i actually hope they do not explode the planet just yet.

The Criterion, 2012, acrylic on canvas

 

sick little birds

and their nonstop chirping

Godot

Waiting for someone who isn't coming back is like some emotional torture on another level. Whether they died or left or just forgot to stay....there is an agitation between body and brain. Even after you KNOW that you KNOW that they aren't calling, they aren't returning......your heart still has this anticipation, this apprehension..as if just maybe.

But they are gone. and it is done, and you just have too keep moving forward because you have no choice. but at the same time there is this nagging pain, this "what if," this "maybe", this longing for something that isn't true ...that you have to wrestle. You have to wrestle that longing like an untimely angel. Like an unlikely ghost you never asked for.....

I wish i could find a blank cool silent room where i could be alone and rest for as long as it took to not feel this exhausted, this used up and this unforgiven

You mean nothing to no one but that is nobody's fault.

"I had a lengthy discussion about The Power of Myth / With a post-modern author who didn't exist
In this fictitious world all reality twists / I was a hopeless romantic, now I'm just turning tricks"

In our last conversation she mentioned the word "empowerment" as a way to get through life

i had heard it and read it in all this therapy/recovery stuff. empowerment. It's like sometimes you skim

the words that can't apply..(which is why i always have to re-read.) It is an Action word. something you have to DO.

Move. Act. Change. Being really avoidant,...well its a problem. I'd almost rather be terrified, frozen, prepared and

ready to fight this imaginary THING. You can't see it and i almost always can't see it but I know it is there and I have to obsess and do all these THINGS to like starve, for instance, and count and place things and cover them (ocd what have you)

suddenly you drop all that and go join an Animal Rescue Program. And you are thinking that you neglecting a small dark world that

is SCREAMING and begging for you to return but you say NO. I am putting on normal clothes and brushing my teeth and going

to pay a bill. or sign up for a class. or join an acting troupe. or actually make a friend and hang out with them and drink tea and NOT

become codependent and twisty and obsessed with their past and present and soul and brain. I am being normal. this is normal. great. now i am obsessing about being normal.

So, you know, what better way to be empowered that to be an activist for this thing you are recovered FROM?

Well, you know what? It is really hard to be an activist for a condition that no one believes you have. or had.

it is really hard to be surrounded by people who say they love you but when you form words your mouth is just

numb bc you cant make words that covey the slightest accurate portrait of what is inside you.

so you draw it and you paint it and your parents can't bear too look bc the painting are painful and 

most of the time i don't even think my therapist believes me. Anxiety. i have anxiety and i have fear.

Oh. Sorry. I thought it was God. (i really did)

i don't understand how anyone can love me if they don't know me. and i don't feel known.

i don't want to die unknown, but then in another way i kinda do. just crawl up and disappear. go away as if i never was.

that kinda sounds okay sometimes. That last love, he said, "you cant leave me bc no one knows you but me"

and it sounds like some controlling bs but the thing is, he was right. It was true. So sometimes he called me crazy but sometimes he

said My god there is nothing wrong with you. he said it so much. i got angry. i stopped taking my medicine. i stopped all of it. i didn't tell anyone. after a few months my skull was a living torture chamber for my brain. I tried to tell him what was going on.

"ohmygod see this is the shit you don't need to say. to anyone. this is the shit that is gonna get you back in the hospital.and you need to stop it bc there is nothing wrong with you. i'm going to call your parents... do they know how you are"  

i got back on my meds eventually but, like, i think everyone just kinda thought i was lame for doing so. So after that i just you know shut most people out except for my few obsessions. and he moved on and all which is great bc he was an amazing human being even though the was, of course, not equipped  with the skills to handle what the hell ever ever was wrong with  me. (NOTHING)

i "recovered" i eat. i got a job. it has been years now, since i recovered from nothing.

 i look an my paintings and  cry. i am numb and no one knows who i am.

Tea cups and fish: a death story

Death makes me feel....


panicky
terrified
horrified
overwhelmed
distressed
nauseous
regretful
mournful
sorrowful
reflective
paranoid
resentful
confused
shocked


for starters. and the emotions roll in like tidal waves. You steady yourself...and then there is another. You know you have been in therapy too long when you  grab a pen and LIST your EMOTIONS by name..or wait Are those feelings? gah. nevermind. I think i failed Therapy.


So who falls in love with a dying woman anyway? not love. but love., that is


i do. i did. Bc i need her and i don't want to her do die.
but she is going to.
I almost met her by accident. we seemed to love the same men. not in the girly catty way, but really -  we found the same gold souls and by touching them, touched each other. I held her hand in mine just last night and was so reluctant to let go..to see her slip away into the forever. 


It was HER art that saved me...that stopped me from giving up. When no one could understand what i was trying to express...when i was so lost, and scared and shy and ...One of the professors showed me a few images of her work. After the intense shock of just how GOOD it was (better than textbook-art-history-museum-stuffs and this woman lived an hour away?!?)I was eerily aware of our similar images. Mine were like, crayon scribbles, compared to her excellent technique but holy mary. Tea Cups and Fish. i mumbled, "tea cups and fish....and bones, she paints bones"
Symbols that mean more than words can say. Symbols that came so naturally to me, that when asked for an explanation i would just make one up. To protect the actual meaning. Nothing stronger more intense or strong or fucking fragile than teacups and fish bones. And she thought so too. she understood.
So i suppose her work gave me strength, and it let me know that what i was Painting,Seeing, Expressing, Feeling, was not  WRONG. It was Art.
Years and years later i fell for a person who was, unbeknownst to me, her best friend.
So we all became friends. And it felt like a family that i fit into even when i was covered with ghosts and paint.
And i have to remember. i HAVE to remember the strength i saw in her
bc that is the strength that is going to get me (us) through this...strong like teacups and fish.

It's where she lies

Brain in a Jar

Holey Moley I MADE it to my appointment and on TIME!! okaaaay almost on time..i was like 5 minutes late. But i was there and I felt like it went okay. I am going to start strattera AGAIN...in a different way and on a lower dose.
We shall see.
I had soooo many questions though.
about a TON of things.
But I don't even think she could answer most of them. I wish i could have tests done, i wish i could see and know what chemicals are spurting out and when and why. The roller coaster moods and the things i DO that don't even make sense to me.. Can i get a Manual for My Brain? Oh, well, it doesn't work that way.
Intrusive Thoughts? Bleh! I dont understand! i WANT to understand. I know that genius science brain doctors are still studying all this and there is no easy answer. This wanting to know, like, KNOW is a new thing for me. But if i could just see my chemical reactions during a panic attack on a graph or something... I don't know. Maybe i am grasping at threads...wanting a solid explanation for a fluid question? Ah do you feel separate from and curious about Your Brain?

Is this my Mask?

Sometimes I feel so tired..inside
This painting is old... a few years.
But it still rings true.

my brain is churning and these waves
of panic keep going over me.

I have to figure something out
I have to figure out whose mask this is

Sometimes i mourn the loss of each day
I know you have to look forward and
everything...
but i remember who I used to be and
it seems like that person is dead somewhere

the good of her
and thebad of her

life is about lettin go, i keep learning that.
I keep learning that i HAVE to let go...
 i have not learned how to do it and not let it HURT.
Do you just let the pain wash over you? do you just sit with it? it hurts SO bad.
I told someone two days ago that i was not depressed anymore but...
I think i was just not depressed at THAT moment.
each moment feels like a whole new mood. This is very exhausting.
I see the doctor tomorrow.

What I was tryin' to do...

was learn the difference between love and obsession. Gimme a break!
 I am trying to self actualize, here.
I have a less than stellar romantic history.

I have a roaring heart
and a wandering ghost.

I can't make either one
 wear a chain
of silver, metal, steel, gold or glass...

okay well maybe glass...

not waving but drowning*

 I am at my desk. At work. I go far away in my head and then I am gasping. Oh,yeah. Breathe, stupid. I do that when I worry..Hold my breath, that is. I twirl my thumb around my blank left ring finger and think what if?
What if i went AGAINST my gut?
Do you have any idea how HARD is for me to trust people?
No. You can't.

tell me something to change what i believe
tell me something to change me

It feels so desolate inside me...there is no one there.

I keep people at arm's length bc I do not trust most of them.
I mean it sucks, kinda.....

But my intuition is a flying roaring soaring beast
and i dare not fight her...

"this is not the time"

But really i can't win either way.....

"Not Waving but Drowning" is a poem by British poet Stevie Smith published in 1957 as part of a collection of the same title

a picture is worth 10000000 words

Who am i?

So when i was a kid, most girls talked about how when they grew up, they would get married and have a kid or 3 or 6 or whatever. The idea sounded NOT COOL to me. It sounded boring and like a lot of work and doing other people's dishes. And getting pressured and bossed around. Ima be an artist. Ima have lots of friends and paint and grow things. Right?
But still...everyone evenutally grows up and gets married, I mean it is, like, expected and shit. Plus you get a tax break. Every girl dreams of her wedding day for her whole life! right?
um....

So what the hell is WRONG with me?

Because an amazing person asked me to completely out of the freaking blue most unexpected thing ever marry them. WTF? In all my grace and total sophisticated style I.....reacted by hitting him and subsequently having a panic attack. right. smooooth. go me. I suck. can i get another beer then?
But for serious - last week I had gotten a letter from him that said "I never want to speak to you again" and then he deleted from all social networking sites.  The DELETION was a reaction to a letter I sent to him. A letter full of very difficult questions such as - Your job is strenuous; how will we handle it? and Could you ever stop doing drugs for me?
I got no answer. I got deleted. Then -
I got a marriage proposal.
In my defense and with all due respect - WTF?
I'm so confused and flustered and I just really want(ed) to take a knife to my arms.
All i kept thinking was you don't know me, you don't even know me, you don't know who i am 
so then xmas day i just cried a lot. Like, a LOT (merry merry xmas!!!) and finally talked to my parents, who were really bewildered since they have never met this person before. (this is significant only my family is super duper almost way too close)
I am pretty sure that people think I am afraid to move far from my family. No. I am dying to get the hell out of Louisiana. I just am very very wary of donating the rest of my one life to the dream of a person I don't know that well. and it sucks that everyone thinks i am being a bad person for that. So I am  very sad. Sad for good, it seems like.

And then she did....

 okay ya'll. I have done really really good in spite of the emotional distress(more about this later).But I am running of Steam. Running of fake smiles (i only has 432 and i'm down to, like, 3)One more big event..the hardest one...huge family gathering.... ima-be-just-fine***crossing fingers here ***

I believe in a bone fragmented memory

I am 14 years old. I am thinner that I have ever been and I am in the bathtub staring down at my body with the usual feeling of intense alienation. I am full grown; I was full grown by 12. I found this repulsive so I tried to stop it. Now I’m older but smaller…and I only want even smaller. Staring at hipbones  beneath water…beneath skin. I want to see them closer. Really really see them. Are they really there? Are they white? Staring staring….It occurs to me quite suddenly that there is really NOTHING I can do to change the shape of my bones. Bones are solid, right?  ….and wide and thick and strong. They won’t be shrinking well they? I Stare. Immersed in water and complete powerlessness. I am a helpless soul trapped in this uncontrollable bone machine.  Is it true? …at some point there is nothing else you can do?….You can’t go any farther. Right? I begin fantasize about breaking bones and re constructing them. This seems horrible and I shudder and get up. And I dry off.

And I  get better

And I get worse

And at 17 I get hospitalized and diagnosed.

And at 31 I  write this.*

*This is supposed to go along with this drawing . But I can’t get all these bits and fragments of thoughts and images to add up. I know now, that Bones can be damaged to the point that they shrink, and surgeons can and do alter them. But as a kid I didn’t know it. I imagined them as steel. And it’s a good thing I did. It’s a good thing I believed in bones. 

The Ruined City

So this is a new painting called The Ruined City. Yes, I am painting the end of the world. WELL.
Okay, It's not the end, really, just the way a really crowded crumbley city feels to me. And this is Louisiana and we know about crumbling cities.

I worked the hell out of the surface to get the cracklies in there and I am pretty happy with them.

Once a prof said to me, Ghost Girl, if no one buys your paintings it is because no one wants to be reminded that they are going to die. Bwahahhaha! Really? I think about it all the time, i always have. Not on purpose, either. I finally stopped obsessing but....i mean i still think about it. But it is only bc i LOVE BEING ALIVE (er usually) NOW. and Life tastes like strawberries and sticky sunshine kisses. But you can't just forget the cold death chill. Besides, i have seen some death and I wont forget it - it would be a dis-service to all living things to ignore it....as it would be to put death above LIVING. So love your life to death, says I. And move forward carrying your battle scarred heart. and sing a song of re-membrance and re-growth. Bc out of the ruins, we will rise.

Maladaptive Universe. congrats on yr starving!?!

Will power is continuing to paint when you know you suck

Continuing to write when you know you are not a writer

And continuing to eat when you think you are big enough

But you know there are people counting on you to keep going.

So yeah, I am working on this watercolor. Practice.

Non stop practice, it feels like.

So yeah, Im like, this is stupid. And pointless.

Buti keep going, I am still in that mode.

My moods, they don’t come and flash and go

They come and they settle and stay a while.

And I drink. And I smoke. And I paint.

Its bad, yeah. I know.

But the thing about addiction… is THIS. Don’t congratulate yourself

For your willpower when it comes to E.D.  – AN specifically.

Don't congratulate yourself for starving..when you LIKE it. when you are addicted to it.

Does anyone congratulate a drug addict for snorting all THOSE LINES???

or an alcoholic for drinking THAT MUCH??? no. NO. But it is the same thing.

resisting food is not -

NOT about having a strong personality..when it is something you are addicted to.

jesus. Does this society's love affair with thin NEVER end? really though.

I LIKED IT.

just like i like struggling to be a good painter..when

 i know...there are only a handful of good ones.

oh well.

its the struggle, right? the struggle for balance and for health.

"No Struggle.

No Progress "- (frederick douglass quote.)

hmm this painting is just a copy from a magazine. i do that sometimes for practice. but it kept looking more and more like me as a confused kid than as a fashion model in  NYLON. so i let it go and be that. ugly dress and all. then i made a butterfly with mis matched wings out of a different kind of paper and sewed that on. MALadaPTIve uNIVersE.

Strange Aches. Unfinished Business

Marya is manic.  Im almost done with Wasted, so I look her up to see what else she has written. Her book Madness, which came out in April 2008, is about being diagnosed as Bipolar.  Everything makes much more sense, now. I was expecting a book about a girl with e.d.'s but as I was reading I actually thought, " can't believe no one diagnosed her as manic-depressive" (that is the old term for it, right?. Oh, but they did. Only it was a story for another day.
Her behavior in Wasted is terrifying to me. Mania is terrifying and fascinating to me bc I have most likely never felt a single drop of it....but it always seemed like a necessary something to counterbalance the EXTREME depth of my depression. After I emerged from the worst deep  and dark depression of my life, I told my T that my brain felt wounded...that i was actually waiting for an extreme upswing..something to knock the pendulum too far over into a realm of the OPPOSITE of depression..whatever that is. Mania, I guess. Instead I documented the time between waking up and having the first 'longing for death' thought. Gradually that time increased. Slowy, slowly crawling back to life. Once I had "but i don't want to die," run across my mind, and was so shocked and excited that I immediately told my T. My brain had only offered me misery and rather gruesome thoughts for so long...the first positive idea that floated up was stunning. An Organ offering thoughts was the only way i could describe My Own Thinking...I didn't feel like I owned my thoughts...My brain was just a sick organ rotting in my skull. Radiating outward the putrid god awful thoughts...
And nothing got accomplished. I avoided everything and everyone. I finished school, I painted ferociously, but i kept it mostly to myself and had shaking anxiety fits when I thought about a Plan for The Rest Of My Life. or Promoting Me. So I did nothing. And I become nothing.
So reading about People who had
a debilitating mental illness
and survived and
even achieved.
gives me strange aches.

photosynthesis